


Hold On

by disorient_me



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, possibly triggery for panic attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disorient_me/pseuds/disorient_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is no stranger to nightmares.  It’s just that he never knew how much harder it would be, waking up and finding the bed across the way empty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Herc and Stacker piloted Striker Eureka for Operation Pitfall, leaving Chuck behind.

 

~*~

It’s not that he has nightmares, okay? He’s always had nightmares, and he’s entirely used to them. Anyone living would tell you that they’d had their fair share of nightmares; pilots most certainly have the most detailed ones. Getting up close and personal with monsters from the sea leaves shit behind, okay, so Chuck Hansen is more than acquainted with night terrors.

~*~

Four strikes marks a win, but it only takes one for Mako to pull back. Her focused expression is quickly fading to something a lot closer to puzzlement, and Chuck bares his teeth.

“C’mon then,” he snaps, jerking his chin at her. She lowers her staff, however, and he scowls. “You don’t win after only one point, Mori.”

“You are not focusing,” she says disapprovingly. His shoulders tense with aggression, but Mako is already turning to put her staff back in the racks. “We already know how this match ends when you do not focus.”

“Don’t _need_ to focus to beat you, Mako,” he snaps. She doesn’t look at him as she slides back into her boots, and rage fills his chest. It spirals, of course, and he snarls, “Never thought you’d be one to run away. The Marshal always loved it when you handed me my arse, what’s—”

“The Marshal,” Mako interrupts with the coldest voice he’s ever heard, “Would be embarrassed to watch me fight a child.”

She’s gone now, and Chuck just snaps his staff over his knee.

~*~

There’s something soothing about being in the launch bays. It’s horrendously empty now, the hangers vacant and most the people gone. There are no more crowds or people rushing everywhere, and the silence is deafening.

Chuck can hear his own heartbeat, and he hates it. He masks it instead by throwing himself into deconstruction; too much of the tech here can never be allowed to fall into political agendas or war-craving hands. He’s always been pretty handy with a wrench or a soldering iron, and Chuck very quickly establishes his corner. No one else dares to intrude, not that there are many people left.

After Pitfall, the vast majority of the Resistance went home, moved on with their lives. Chuck remains here, because really, where else does he have to go?

Besides, there’s plenty of work left here. So Chuck just doubles down his focus, blocking out the feeling of eyes on him from across the way.

~*~

_He’d been ready to bail. Protocol said to bail, procedures and codes drilled into his brain, and yet somehow, he’s standing on top of Striker’s head, rain pouring down as Leatherback leers down. The rain is agonizing on his body, still torturously stinging in the wake of the EMP, and the rain just hurts more, and he turns to his side—_

_No one is there. No one is there, and suddenly there’s a terrible eye right there, and he turns, tries to get some space, and he thinks he sees the Kaidonovskies, but they’re glaring, why didn’t they save them, why didn’t they_ help _them, and he backs up, and he’s falling, falling right off of Striker, falling and—_

There’s no one in the room when he bolts up, gasping for breath and hand reaching out for someone to catch him. Max whines, and Chuck mindlessly lowers his hand to his dog. Max licks his fingers, but it’s not quite enough to block out the crushing feeling in his chest.

~*~

No one else dares to step into the Kwoon with him. There are precious few people left in the ‘Dome that were in the Ranger program to begin with (candidates, mostly), and now all of them refuse to spar with him. Instead, Chuck just proceeds to destroy the single punching bag in the corner, wearing it down with blow after blow and blood on his knuckles. He knows better than to destroy his hands, but it at least shuts his brain up for a while.

~*~

Mako frowns. Chuck is sitting across the way, studiously ignoring everyone and anyone. People gave up several weeks ago on coming up and congratulating him or offering condolences. There was only so much venom or numb looks one can take, and Mako knows the feeling. She’s glad they are leaving Chuck alone.

(She’s not sure if she’s more grateful that they are leaving him alone for his sake, or for her own. She has had enough of soothing hurt feelings, and has more important things to do than to apologize for Chuck.)

“It’s not right,” Raleigh says. Mako looks up. Raleigh is frowning again, his gaze far away and distant. She knows where his mind is, and yet she does not; Drifting had given them a bond, to be sure, but Mako does not know Raleigh like the back of her hand. It’s humbling, even now, but Mako would not trade it for the world. Raleigh has her back, has supported her through everything that came after, and keeps her from getting lost.

“What is not right?” She asks, and Raleigh’s eyes dart to the side.

“He looks terrible,” he said. “He looks like he’s lost weight, and he doesn’t even talk to Max much.”

“Chuck has never cared for other people,” Mako says carefully. “Or what they think.”

“He’s not taking care of himself, Mako,” Raleigh replies. There’s something lurking beneath his words, an echo of dark pain, and she closes her eyes. Raleigh is sweet, has matured a lot since the Glory Days, but while he’d known how to best support her, she is not sure he knows how to approach Chuck.

 _No,_ she thinks, mind flashing to a brawl in the corridors, _He certainly does not know how to approach Chuck._

The main problem, of course, is that Chuck does not _want_ to be approached.

~*~

His bad arm throbs, but Chuck ignores it as he hauls more components to the incinerator. The sound of his boots echo in the vast hall, but Max is sound asleep in the corner.

 _Lucky bastard,_ Chuck thinks. Max can sleep anywhere, and while he used to be able to do the same, it’s gotten a lot harder these days. Sleep doesn’t come easily, save on the nights when he works himself to exhaustion. Even then, the exhaustion isn’t enough not to dream.

From time to time, he thinks he feels someone watching him, but that might just be his exhaustion. He leans against the wall for a long minute, eyes drifting closed—

_Rain, it hurts, body so sensitive after that shockwave, but he can’t hear Herc’s screams anymore, only his own, and then he’s falling—_

Chuck snaps his eyes open, yanking his arm back in to his side. The world is blurry and a little frightening, and he has no idea how much time he’s wasted. Ridiculous and shameful.

The incinerator door is locked, and Chuck doesn’t remember doing that. Whatever. He manages to shove his cart full of junk to the side, then whistles to Max.

“C’mon,” he says. “Bedtime, bud.”

They make it as far as the caf. Chuck detours for a fresh water bottle, then sits down at the table. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

~*~

Chuck is no stranger to nightmares. It’s just that he never knew how much _harder_ it would be, waking up and finding the bed across the way empty.

~*~

Mako is puzzled. It’s not something she finds herself experiencing often, but then, Raleigh seems to bring that out. He is unpredictable, now as always.

Over the past couple weeks, however, he’s been more unpredictable as usual. When she asks, he says he’s fine, and she can tell that he isn’t lying. Whatever it is, it seems to be keeping Raleigh in the present, away from the ghosts in his head.

~*~

Chuck can’t stand the emptiness in his quarters anymore. Asking to switch is out of the question, and instead he spends every waking hour—which is every single one of his hours—immersed in the tech bay. Max is diligent, but not diligent enough to wake him when he falls asleep, and Chuck finds that unacceptable.

Almost as unacceptable as the blue eyes gauging him from the doorway.

“What do you want?” He sneers. Becket just shrugs.

“Insomnia’s pretty rough,” he says. Chuck’s eyes narrow, but Becket’s undeterred. “Want to spar?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, _Ra_ leigh, I’m _working_ on something here,” he sneers. He has no idea why Becket’s here. He’s spent the last weeks since Pitfall backing Mori up, working deconstruction during the day and just generally being a shoulder to cry on whenever Mori needs. Does Mako even cry? Chuck doesn’t know, he hasn’t seen her, but he assumes she does. The two of them are close—most pilots are. Were. Whatever—and Chuck doesn’t need pity.

“You’ve been tightening and loosening the same bolt for the past ten minutes,” Becket says dryly. Chuck jerks, looks down—damn it. How could he have lost track of what he was doing so badly? It’s the one thing left he can do, and if he can’t even do this—“Come on. Spar with me.”

“Why would I want to do that?” He demands, putting every ounce of derision he can spare into his tone. Turns out, there’s quite a lot. Still, Becket just fucking stands there.

“Because you’re not doing much good in here, are you?” He smirks.

Chuck plans to beat that fucking smirk right off his goddamn _face._

~*~

It doesn’t take long for Chuck’s anger to emerge in the spar. Raleigh is impressed; despite his clear exhaustion, Hansen is brutal and efficient. Raleigh matches him, falling into the sequence of give-and-take easily enough, but he’s watching, waiting.

It comes soon enough. Raleigh blocks high, hooking his staff around Chuck’s and going for a lock—

And Chuck trembles. There’s a clear lag in the response, a failure for Hansen to escape the throw before it happens, and Raleigh finds himself stopping halfway through. He’s turned, yanking Chuck up and over his shoulder, but he doesn’t complete the throw.

More tellingly, Chuck doesn’t respond for a long second, his body lying braced on Raleigh’s back. It lasts for a flash, and then Chuck is inverting the throw, rolling and pulling Raleigh over.

The spar disintegrates into a bare-handed brawl, but all Raleigh can feel is the way Chuck is shaking with exhaustion.

~*~

Mako wisely says nothing about Raleigh’s black eye. She just masks a small smile with her hand, then retrieves him an icepack.

~*~

Three nights—and three spars—later, Chuck finally snaps.

“Why are you even here?” He demands. His fury leaks into his attacks, his calm splintering, and Becket just weathers it. “Don’t fucking _need_ you checking in on me—”

“Someone should,” Raleigh shoots back. He evades Chuck’s next attack, instead sliding into some unholy combination that’s entirely too much like Mako. Chuck winds up flat on his back, pinned and unable to move. For a long moment, he doesn’t even struggle.

~*~

Chuck doesn’t know how to handle this. Suddenly, Raleigh Becket is following him around like they’re friends, sparring with him and trying to sit at his table. The daft fucker manages never to sit where Herc always sat, and slips Max scraps when he thinks Chuck isn’t looking. He talks, he knows when to be silent, and sometimes he just reads in the corner. Chuck has no idea what to do with any of this. The only person that has ever been around him for long periods of times was only there because of tortured guilt and later the copilot thing, he thinks. He knows better—or does he?—and it all sort of blends together into this new confusion.

He doesn’t understand what Becket wants from him, and it irritates the hell out of him. Whatever; Max seems to like it well enough, if only because he gets more attention. Max has always been spoiled, always loved attention, but only some of that attention really meant a damn in the end.

Shaking his head, Chuck isn’t entirely aware of what’s happened until he’s somehow volunteered himself to give Mako a hand with some of the fine-tuning. Mako hides her startled look well enough, and Raleigh’s pleased little look somehow makes Chuck calmer rather than angrier, and he’s not entirely sure how this happened.

~*~

The nightmares are there to greet him when he slips off, and his empty quarters are there when he wakes, and all the space in between isn’t enough to ease the silence in his head. He avoids his quarters more than he’s ever there, catching fragments of sleep here and there when he can’t physically stand to keep his eyes open any longer.

_The metal of Striker’s Conn-Pod is slick with rain, his body aches from the EMP, his arm throbs, and he’s falling, accusing eyes everywhere, how could you fail us?_

Chuck wakes abruptly, snapping to awareness from years of training. His hand is stretched out again, reaching—

And this time, Becket has grabbed hold. His hand is tight and strong around Chuck’s, holding on across the table. Chuck blinks. He’d been alone when he’d drifted off, but Becket is sitting next to him, book splayed on the table in front of him as he holds onto Chuck as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“What?” He rasps, and Raleigh tightens his grip.

“You never reach out to anyone,” Raleigh says carefully. Chuck wants to deck him, wants to sit up and brush the sleep from his eyes, wants to yank his hand away and storm off—and he can’t manage to do anything more than simply stare at Becket from the side. “But you make this motion a lot, when you’re sleeping. So this time I grabbed on.”

“You… watch me sleep,” he says uncertainly, and Raleigh shrugs.

“Insomnia sucks,” he says. “Besides, when you sleep in the mess hall, that’s one thing. When you sleep in the hangars, yeah, maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

He tenses, but Raleigh just offers a small smile.

“I don’t need—” he starts, flustered and feeling strangely exposed.

“Yeah, you do,” Raleigh interrupts. “Everyone does, okay? It’s not a bad thing to need people.”

Part of him wants to rage at that. He’s Chuck Hansen, he doesn’t need _anyone—_ but he can’t quite reach his anger. Instead, he stares at his hand, still in disbelief how such a pithy little gesture can make him feel like this. Feel _what,_ he’s not even sure he can begin to pick that mess apart, but all he can think right now is that it feels as if Becket caught him, as if Raleigh has pulled him out of a freefall, and it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous and semantic and all the things Chuck trained out of himself years ago, but… he’s here, Raleigh Becket holding onto him like he’s not going to let him fall.

Chuck needs it more than he’s willing to admit. Thankfully, Raleigh doesn’t make him say it, doesn’t make him say anything. He just sits here, grip never wavering as Chuck stares at the foreign contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, okay, this was one of those mornings where I woke up and I haven't written anything productive in ages--and then all of a sudden this happened. I have 3k of this written, and it's like, come on. Where has this been over the past several months?
> 
> Unbeta-ed and thrown up to get myself motivated to write more. This style is experimental for me--fragments in present tense, yay!--so please let me know if it works or now? Feedback is loved, adored, and taken to heart, and concrit is always welcome ^.^ Please, please, please let me know what you think, and if you'd like more :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, RL has been hectic and crazy. Finished this chapter up, finally. Some of the segments are a little longer, but like I said, this is kind of a new experimental style for me. I'm not used to writing snapshot fics, and some of them end up a little shot-ier than snap-y. Bear with me, please?

~*~

“Did you know your copilot watches me sleep?” Chuck demands the next time he catches Mako alone. She nods; of course she knows. Chuck scowls, and Mako demurely ignores him as she goes through the paperwork. Why he agreed to help her with this, Chuck will never know.

“Raleigh is familiar with insomnia,” she starts, and he scoffs.

“I know _that,_ I got the bloody memo already,” he snaps. Her unimpressed look shuts him up in a hurry, however, and he subsides.

“He does not interrupt, right?” She asks. Chuck nods, and her lips quirk up in a hint of a smile. “He fell asleep on the Wall, once. He did not have anyone watching to make sure he did not get hurt.”

Oh. Okay, he guesses that kind of makes sense, in a vaguely horrifying way. Seeing Chuck falling asleep near the incinerator or in the hangars might have been a little difficult, but that doesn’t explain Becket watching over him in the mess hall. He shakes his head, frustrated.

“Still,” he says. “Creepy.”

Mako just sighs at him.

~*~

It’s a little frightening when he thinks about it, so he tries not to. Chuck mostly ignores the way he’s apparently grown lax in his self-awareness. He never wakes up when Becket gets into his personal space, despite the fact that Chuck Hansen is very much aware of his surroundings at all times, thank you _very_ much. It was something he’s always prided himself on, and this thing here? This thing where he stays awake until he literally passes out, then wakes up to find Becket already there? No, he’s not going to think about it.

Add it to the list of Chuck Hansen Issues. Most other people probably already have.

~*~

Deconstruction is going quickly. Those who remain are as efficient at their jobs as ever, and it reassures and infuriates Chuck by turn. Of course those who’d stayed knew what they were doing; the Resistance had been an extremely lean, focused operation to begin with. They hadn’t had the room or the time to deal with amateurs or idiots. Of course they still know how to best disassemble everything without wasting time.

Chuck kind of wishes they would waste time. He knows that they can’t afford to, but with every piece that’s broken down or every file that’s redacted and encrypted, the Shatterdome is closer and closer to closing. The K-Science doctors have run model after model, and all indications are that the Breach is sealed for good. No one will ever take that for granted, however, and they have worked out treaties and such to make sure the Breach is never, ever unmonitored. There are a lot of details, and Chuck can’t help but feel like each detail checked off is one checkmark closer to… something. He doesn’t know what, but he knows it’s not good, and he doesn’t want that final check to be marked.

One of the advantages to the closing of the ‘Dome means that there aren’t hundreds of people on the outer decks at any given time. The skies are silent without the Jumphawks and supply choppers everywhere, but it has its upsides. Now, Chuck can do what he’s wanted to do since he was a teen years back—he can bring Max out and toss a ratty old ball, watching his dog bound across the tarmac. They never got to do this before, obviously, but Max loves the fresh air and the freedom.

Max growls playfully, wriggling his rump and dancing away from Chuck when he reaches for the ball, and Chuck laughs.

“Oi, give it over,” he commands, and Max just dares him with a little growl and bounce. Chuck’s smile is genuine as he lunges for his dog, his mind far away from tools and paperwork.

~*~

As the stacks of papers grow thinner and the amount of work to be done lessens by the day, Raleigh can almost see the weight falling away from Mako. She doesn’t quite celebrate, of course, too cautious to believe that the Breach is completely gone just yet, but there’s still relief in how she handles everything that comes after. Raleigh helps where he can, waiting. He doesn’t quite know what he’s waiting for, but there’s that feeling—something he’d lost over the past five years. He had never waited for anything after that stormy night, but now… there’s something.

He’s not surprised when Mako mentions wanting to travel when this is over; she’s never had the chance to really see the world. She does surprise him, however, when she mentions she would like to see England. Raleigh just starts drawing up some plans.

~*~

It’s just past 1:30 in the morning. Chuck is grateful that the Kwoon requires little to no clean up—just take up the mats and take down the racking for the staffs, really. It means that it’s still set up for him to vent his pent up energy, to drill until his mind falls silent.

Tonight, it’s not working. There are phantom flashes along the periphery of his memories, anticipation of blows that never materialize and sequences that fall flat without someone to bounce off of. It’s enough to throw off his stride, to interrupt his rhythm. There’s no one around to see, though, so Chuck just grits his teeth and lashes out harder.

He’s not sure what’s less appealing: going to bed only to wake up in an hour or so, or letting Becket babysit him and smile as he thinks about his upcoming trip with Mako. There’s only about another week worth of work left, and then…

 _And then fucking what?_ Chuck sneers at himself. He’s no closer to having any of that figured out. Theoretically, he has a pension, he has Herc’s pension, so he can get himself and Max set up fully decked out and cozy, and the rest of the world can go fuck itself. None of that appeals to him; nothing does. He’d entertained thoughts and notions of the future a long time ago, but those had faded in the wake of reality. Now, Chuck can’t even recall what he’d once wanted after they’d beaten the kaiju. He hasn’t thought that there would be an ‘after’ for at least a couple years now.

Whatever it was, he’d always been fairly certain that he wouldn’t feel so lost. It makes him sick, which in turn just makes him angrier. Chuck had never thought he would be the only one left; copilots were supposed to go down together.

 _But he wasn’t your copilot there at the end, was he?_ A nasty little voice taunts. _You cocked that up, busting your arm like a rookie._

Chuck knows better than to break any more staffs, but damn if the urge doesn’t almost physically hurt. He throws the staff back into the rack and heads back for another useless attempt at sleep.

Unsurprisingly, sleep doesn’t quite come. He blames it on the silence—even the pilots’ wing had been filled with a dull hum of activity for as long as he could remember—and on the odd angles of shadows cast across the floor. Someone had seen fit to provide him with boxes, presumably to pack up and get out, and it fills him with rage. He’s used to his life fitting into boxes and duffles, to being packed and ready to move out within thirty minutes notice, but now, there’s a stack of empty boxes waiting to be filled with Herc’s stuff, and of course Herc isn’t here to pack it.

Chuck could pack it. He knows how his father arranges his kit. Years of watching followed by years of Drifting have left the memories ingrained into him. It wouldn’t take long, twenty minutes, tops. Twenty minutes to pack his henleys and worn khakis, his boots, his shaving kit and his old paperback books, his...

Chuck’s heart seizes when he thinks about packing up that photo album, and he feels sick. It’s one of a million things they never discuss; Herc has never let Chuck catch him looking at it. There had been glimpses of it in the Drift, and Chuck is fairly sure his father knew about the time Chuck had stolen it and fallen asleep on top of it. He’d fixed the bent pages as best he could, and his old man never said anything about it.

That photo album is tucked into his father’s stuff, somewhere. The idea of finding it now makes it hard to breathe, something sour burning in the back of his throat. Max grunts as Chuck throws his sheet off.

“C’mon, Max,” he barks. Max groans, huffing and snorting indignantly as he’s woken, and Chuck yanks on his boots. “Up, boy. Let’s go get some work done.”

~*~

Mako sets aside another completed form, then dismisses another entirely. She’s starting to build quite a stack of the memos asking her to ban Chuck from the deconstruction areas, and she’s getting tired of having to reject them. Chuck has always had an attitude problem, and she is not sure why people are still surprised by that. She had thought he was getting better, but evidently she was wrong.

She can’t _wait_ until she and Raleigh leave. The Shatterdome feels foreign enough that the ghosts of those they’d lost seem to have moved on; it will never feel familiar again.

Mako thinks she can be okay with this. It means that the war is over—she’s avenged her family, has finally carried out her singular goal since that horrible afternoon so long ago. The little girl in the raincoat is now the woman who helped bring things to a close, and Mako is happy with that. She misses Stacker, but she’s known for some time that he would not be with her forever. She cannot take away from his victory, from his peace, by wishing she’d gotten to see him waste away instead. It hurts, but she respects his choice, even now. For so long, he has been the steadiest thing she knows, and death cannot diminish that.

She’s been looking forward to traveling more and more. She has been through several of the Shatterdomes with the Marshal, of course, traveling before and after her days in the Academy, but never spent much time outside of those Shatterdomes. She has never spent much time thinking beyond attaining her goal, and it seems odd to start now.

Mako pauses, thinking over that last statement. Several facts start to make sense now, and she wastes no time in planning accordingly.

~*~

Chuck can’t move. Chuck can’t think. Chuck can’t even _breathe_ right now, the edges of his vision darkening and tunneling in. His hands are clenched into fists, but there’s no one to punch—

He strides down the hallway, anger carrying him all the way to the old Marshal’s offices. Distantly, he’s grateful for the fact that this is no longer a military operation, because he never would have been able to simply storm in like this. As it is, the slamming door makes Becket jump; Mako is as unphased as ever.

“Someone was in my quarters,” he snarls. Mako looks up from her tablet, and Chuck hisses, “Personal quarters are _off limits._ Who the hell came into my quarters?”

“Chuck—” Raleigh starts, that damned placating expression on already on his face, and Chuck loses it. His vision flashes red for a moment, and he turns on him.

“ _No one_ has the right to be in my quarters,” he seethes. _No one_ should have ever been in his quarters, touching his things, touching _Herc’s_ things—as if they had any right to lay hands on their belongings after all they’d done, _after all they’d given_ , and Chuck can’t even _fathom_ the unholy hell he will wreak if he finds anything missing. He knows by rote every single thing that should be there, and nothing will stop him from tearing apart those who dared touch—

“Stop,” Mako orders, hard and unbroachable. With wild eyes, Chuck turns to her, and she rises from her chair. “Enough, Ranger Hansen.”

Before his mouth can open again, Mako rounds her desk swiftly.

“The Shatterdome will close in two days,” she informs him sharply. “You have not packed.”

“I’ll pack my kit when I’m ready—”

“You have no plans made,” she continues. Her voice has gained an edge now, tempered as steel, and Chuck knows from experience that she’s reaching a line that he shouldn’t cross. She never needed Becket to defend her honor, of course, and Chuck has known that for years. Never really stopped him from challenging her, of course, but there’s a difference between challenging Mako and honestly pissing her off. “I checked.”

“That’s none of your business,” he hisses, scowling at her. “Not at all. So why don’t you just worry about—”

“And if the Breach reopens?” She counters swiftly. “We need to know how to contact you.”

He balks, some of the wind leaving his sails of his anger and leaving him adrift. Of course they need to know, of course he means to give them his contact info, he could never just walk away from the PPDC—it’s all he’s known for the past ten years. Mako’s mouth presses into a thin line.

It’s a stalemate; for several terse seconds, no one speaks. Chuck isn’t even sure what he would say, beyond that they already _have_ his mobile number on record. He’s not going to admit that he has no plans, no destination, no idea where to even start, and he grasps desperately for his anger as a foothold.

“You have—”

“You are coming with us,” Mako tells him imperially. Chuck blinks, eyes widening, and he yanks back a step before he can help it. “We are going to England; I would like you to come with us.”

“Why?” Chuck grits out suspiciously, a tangled ball of emotions stuck in his chest.

“We have already packed your things,” Mako says, barely hesitating before clarifying, “All of them.”

“You had no right,” he growls.

“Do you have anywhere else to be?” She asks, blunt. She has never had the patience for dancing around the point, and Chuck wants to rage, wants to physically destroy something, even as the words are torn from him.

“No, I don’t.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is loved and adored. Let me know what is working for you, what isn't, which places need more clowns, whichever ;)


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

The air here is different than anywhere he’s ever been before. The ocean is even more different; it’s clean here, untainted by the Blue. He keeps scouring the waves for traces of the luminescent glow, keeps thinking he sees it out of the corner of his eye, and it’s hard for Chuck to just breathe and remember that Britain’s ocean has never been touched by the Blue.

The weather is cool and slightly misty, the shoreline empty, but that doesn’t seem to bother Max. The bulldog wanders along the very edge of the lapping waves, just far enough away to stay dry. Chuck can’t bring himself to touch the water, not yet, and so Max instinctively follows suit.

They’ve been in England for close to two weeks now. Mako and Raleigh have been doing the tourist thing, but Chuck prefers his space. They had essentially kidnapped him, but he’s drawn the line at being forced into going around like a kid and seeing the sights. He doesn’t have the patience to pretend to be a nice guy, and Mako doesn’t need to go around being all diplomatic on his behalf. He’s not going to take this away from her; at least one of their sorry little crew deserves something normal.

Instead, Chuck spends most of his time alone. He doesn’t know how to handle all of this emptiness, and there’s probably a metaphor or something in there somewhere. He’s never had this much downtime, this much time where there’s nothing expected of him.

He’s pretty sure it’s driving him crazy.

~*~

_The rain is cold, pouring down, and Striker’s head is wet metal beneath his clunky Drive boots. They’re made to fasten into the skids in the Conn-Pod, not made for traction, and despite knowing how careful to be, despite thinking he needs to be careful, Chuck is slipping and falling, and his father is watching, but just like always, he can’t catch him, and Chuck’s falling, rain stinging his eyes as he screams at the sky—_

Gasping brokenly, Chuck lurches upright. He kicks his blankets aside, scrambling mindlessly for the window, because he can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe,_ and the room is too small and his cheeks are wet, and, and, and.

The fresh air is damp and thick, muggy and cool, and it’s not enough to ease the pain knifing through his chest. Chuck feels like he’s going to explode, and there’s not a bloody thing he can do about it.

~*~

“Here, try this,” Raleigh instructs, passing over a warm cup of tea. He ignores Chuck’s scowl, instead turning his attention to Max. “Max and I’ll be back—”

“I can walk my dog just fine,” Chuck starts—then sneezes, nearly upsetting his tea. He steadies it, looking pissed, and Raleigh shrugs. It figures, that after sleeping with the window wide open for days now that Chuck managed to get himself a cold. He’s sneezy and drippy, faintly feverish, and it’s raining outside. It’s the dark circles beneath his eyes, however, that help Raleigh hold his tongue when the younger man lashes out. He’s certainly not a very good patient, and while Raleigh’s certainly more tolerant now than he had been years back, he’s no saint.

“Look, you want us out of your hair, right?” He asks, trying hard to stay reasonable. It’s hard, especially after Chuck went out of his way to dump Mako’s lunch into Max’s dish. “So Mako, Max, and I will go for a walk, and you get this out of your system.”

“Don’t think colds work like that, Becket,” Chuck snarls, accent twisted even more around his vowels with his cold. “Wouldn’t be sick if I could will myself not to be, yeah?”

“No, the part where you’re acting like a two year old,” Raleigh snaps back. He kneels to hook Max’s leash to his collar, grateful for having an excuse to walk away, to not look directly at Chuck. He isn’t entirely sure if Chuck is aware how intense his focus can be; he’d felt it when he’d first arrived in Hong Kong, able to sense that heated glare from halfway across the bay. Chuck’s gaze feels like a laser at the best of times, and he guesses it makes sense. Chuck is an intense kind of guy, determined that everything is done precisely right.

Raleigh still isn’t used to having that sort of attention focused on him. After Knifehead, he hid himself away, unable to deal with the staring eyes—sympathy, anger, blame, doubt, he couldn’t take any of it. He felt bad enough without people surrounding him. It still unnerves him, having too many people looking at him, watching him, analyzing him, and sometimes Chuck’s attention is too much. Even with this cold, Chuck is intense.

Max, though, he’s much easier. Couple of scrubs to his head, maybe a ball or a treat, and the dog is happy as can be. That, Raleigh can deal with. Briefly, he imagines trying to ruffle Chuck’s hair—to soothe him, maybe, or possibly just to piss him off—but immediately his mind counters with the image of Chuck literally biting his hands off.

Yeah, probably not a good idea.

“C’mon, Max, let’s go,” he coaxes instead. Tongue lolling, the bulldog spares a reluctant glance at his master, and Chuck rolls his eyes.

“Go on, then,” Chuck grouses. Max finally budges, and then they’re gone.

~*~

Mako leaves a single blue violet on the memorial for Stacker Pentecost. In life, _sensei_ had never been much for grand, showy gestures. He will be pleased with this simple gesture.

Max and Raleigh are solemn and silent as they watch from a distance. Raleigh has allowed her the space, but Mako isn’t crying (today). There has always been more depth to their conversations than mere words, because Stacker Pentecost had always been an intense man; death does not lessen that.

She is glad that Chuck is not here. Even when he isn’t sick, he often doesn’t know when to simply be still and quiet. Mako doesn’t think she could have borne his vitriol here. He has been hard enough to deal with on this trip, even though she had been eager to bring him along. She’d thought that being away from the Shatterdome and away from everything related to the jaegers and kaiju would be good for him.

Mako is starting to think she might have been wrong.

~*~

There’s something about being in England that seems to agree with the other two. Chuck can see the way Mako is relaxing; for years, he has only ever seen her sharply focused and on edge. Now, she’s… softer, or something. He doesn’t know how to describe it, much to his frustration.

Whatever. Adjectives and introspection are useless, anyway. He’s gotten by for how many years without that sort of stuff? Either way, it doesn’t affect him—at least not in a way he can use to his advantage—and so he ignores it.

Kind of.

He ignores the way Mako smiles when Raleigh remembers how she takes her tea in the mornings. He ignores the way Mako lights up when Max goes barreling toward her. He ignores the way she and Raleigh settle so close together during their quiet evenings; he ignores the way they are so comfortable in each other’s presence. He pulls Max closer, because Max is the only one he’s ever needed. He doesn’t need someone coddling him; even when he and his old man had spent the majority of their time in one another’s heads, he’s never needed someone to simply sit at his side and knock elbows into him.

He shifts slightly, away from the window. Ever since he caught that cold, he’s been wary about the drafty windows around here. He wards off the chill, instead pushing Max over to shield his right side a bit better. The dog huffs but settles in, licking at Chuck’s palm a few times before dozing off.

~*~

“So where are we going next?” Raleigh asks. They’ve lingered in England for a couple of weeks now; Mako has taken time (both on her own and accompanied by Raleigh) to visit the places she needs to. It looks good on her. The grief is still there, of course, but Mako is strong, and she’s known for a long time that Pentecost would die soon. At least this way, he’d gone out the best way possible, and Mako can take solace from that.

As relaxed and at ease Mako is, however, Chuck is the opposite. He’s terse and snappier than normal, disappearing for hours on end, and lashing out.  He refuses to come out with them, and when they have forced him to come along, he makes his displeasure known.  Mostly, he retreats into his own room earlier and earlier at night, and takes long walks on his own during the day.  Mako is worried, and tells him that Chuck has never been as silent as he is now. He specializes in lashing out, not in withdrawing, and it concerns both of them. Raleigh no longer finds him drifting off in the common areas of their hotel suite, and he locks himself into his bedroom at night.

The closed door doesn’t stop the sounds of rough, ragged breathing or limbs thrashing in sheets. It definitely doesn’t block the sense of helplessness that twists in Raleigh’s chest at the sounds.

“I am not sure,” Mako admits. She takes a tiny breath, hands clasped around her mug, but her eyes are soft and dark. “He will not want to go to Australia.”

Raleigh’s eyes flick to hers, surprised.

“He thinks he has nothing left there,” Mako says gently. For a split second, he wants to ask about Scott Hansen, but common sense stops that thought there. He doesn’t know why Scott Hansen left the PPDC, and he doesn’t need to know; the fact that there has been no contact between Scott and Chuck since the Breach collapsed is telling enough. Some demons are better left undisturbed, and Raleigh has plenty of those, too.

“What about you?” He asks instead. “Anywhere you want to go?”

“I have seen plenty of places—”

“Around the Pacific Rim,” Raleigh counters gently. He grins wryly, then murmurs, “I don’t think visiting all the Shatterdomes counts as seeing the world, Mako.”

“Not _all_ the Shatterdomes,” she protests, but she’s smiling. “How do you know we did not have leave time while there?”

“Somehow, Pentecost doesn’t strike me as the type to take a day off,” Raleigh teases, and Mako’s shoulders straighten primly.

“ _Sensei_ wanted to make sure I had more than anger and vengeance,” she reminds him—but her eyes are twinkling. It eases something in Raleigh’s chest. The last thing he wants to do is to tease her too soon, but the observation seems to have amused her more than anything else. Mako confides, “He made sure we had days off. If I tried to speak of jaegers or the War, he would choose the… most unique choice on the menu for dinner. Some of the combinations were… horrible.”

“Really?” Raleigh asks, delighted. He’d caught glimpses and feelings of Mako’s relationship with Pentecost through the Drift, of course, but this is a glimpse into a side of the man he’d never thought existed. He had only ever seen the laconic, firm man in charge, but Mako’s memories are different. He is privileged to get this glimpse—and pleased that it brings a smile to Mako’s face when she remembers. “Like what?”

“Well, when we were in Lima…”

~*~

Chuck is relieved when they depart London. He can only feign interest in Pentecost’s homeland for so long before he itches to leave. Something in the air makes him restless and uneasy. From England, they brush through Ireland before heading inland. Switzerland is apparently somewhere Raleigh had picked, though hell if Chuck knows why.

It’s strange, being so far inland from the ocean. For the past ten years, the ocean has always been on his mind. With giant monsters coming out of the sea, ~~taking everything from him,~~ destroying people’s lives, Chuck has always had one eye on the ocean. Having his back to it now leaves him feeling edgy and ill at ease, because he has never been so far from the ocean.

They’re visiting a small village. It’s peaceful here, quiet and removed from much of the strife and ruin that has been Chuck’s life. It’s surreal, seeing a place where everyday life seems undisturbed. No one bothers them, leaving the pilots alone, and it’s… quiet. Even in England, people had recognized them, but here, it’s different.

It’s kind of nice. Not that Chuck will ever admit that. He’s still here under duress, of course, given no choice in his abduction, and he will remind them of that every chance he gets.

“Here,” Raleigh orders, breaking Chuck from his thoughts. “Try this.”

Becket shoves a wrapped little square in his face, and Chuck snarls. Raleigh blocks his backhanded swat easily, his eyes painfully earnest as he shoves the item back at Chuck. He recognizes that it’s candy, and he scowls. Where the bloody hell had that even come from?

“Get that out of my face,” he hisses, leaning away. Raleigh looks down, just for a second, then steps back to offer the candy in a more normal manner now.

“Here,” he repeats. “C’mon. Swiss chocolate is the best.”

“Chocolate?” Chuck echoes. He regards the proffered piece suspiciously; he’s been living on rations for so long that candy is an afterthought, something that is an exceptionally rare treat. Besides, sweets weren’t exactly on the nutrition charts, so Chuck is uncertain.

“Yeah,” Raleigh nods. He glances down at the piece, then shrugs a little bit. “C’mon, try one.”

“Not a _kid,_ Becket,” he sneers. “Don’t need you offering me sweets like—”

“Then stop acting like one and just take it,” Becket counters calmly. It’s the calm tone he gets right when he’s starting to get truly angry, however, and Chuck debates the merits of pressing the argument. They’re not exactly alone, and while Chuck doesn’t mind an audience, at the same time, he’s uncomfortably aware of the kids around. The town might not be as bustling as the ‘Dome, but he’s never exactly engaged in a fight with anklebiters around. Makes him uncomfortable, is all.

He reaches out, accepting the little sweet. Becket is still watching him expectantly, and Chuck glowers at him before unwrapping it. He’s not sure that Becket’s not above forcing the candy down his throat, and while he’d have no problem throwing down, right now it seems easier just to eat the damn thing.

He attributes the sudden heat climbing the back of his neck to the sunlight. The chocolate is, as Becket had declared, much better than anything Chuck’s tasted in years. He ignores the pleased smile on Becket’s face, instead kicking at the ground before muttering, “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Raleigh replies, but he’s grinning. “Figured you’d like the milk chocolate.”

He fights the urge to screw up his face and demand what the difference is. Chocolate is chocolate, right? But Raleigh looks ridiculously pleased with himself, and Chuck bites back the words.

In exchange, Raleigh passes him another piece of chocolate. Chuck scowls but doesn’t argue this time.

~*~

Later that night, Raleigh thanks Mako for the tip. Who would have thought that Chuck Hansen had a sweet tooth?

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In case anyone is wondering, blue violets are symbolic of watchfulness/faithfulness; one of their meanings is “I’ll Always Be There.” 
> 
> Feedback, please? I love hearing what you think :) What did you like, dislike, what did or didn't seem in character? Or you can [bug me on Tumblr](http://www.life-hockey-love.tumblr.com), too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aughhh, sorry for the long delay, you guys. RL has been busy and stressful, and funnily enough, stress pretty much makes my muse run and hide. >.>;;

~*~

It’s been nearly three months since Operation Pitfall, and Raleigh feels as if he can understand Herc Hansen much better than before. Hell, more than once he’s found himself repeating something the older man said, that first day in Hong Kong—

Raleigh isn’t sure whether to give the kid a hug or to kick his ass.

At first, well, he’d known what Chuck needed. Now, though, Raleigh has gone back and forth from one option to the other more times than he can count. At first, he’d thought maybe he’d been wrong back in the beginning; from the bits and pieces he’s picked up from Chuck’s history, he wonders if Chuck doesn’t need some form of genuine kindness more than anything else. The way he’d reacted—wary and stunned—when Raleigh had first sat with him through a nightmare had swayed him that way. It doesn’t hurt that there are brief flickers when the youngest Ranger lets his guard down, these brief little glimpses of something guarded and cautious and a little bit surprised every time that make Raleigh want to bring that out of him more often. He doesn’t think Chuck Hansen has ever had much of that.

On the other hand, today, he’s pretty sure Chuck is leaning toward needing a kick in the ass. Mako assures him that Chuck has been this way for a while, though they both know that it is worse now than ever before. It doesn’t help that Chuck’s guard slammed back up before they left the Shatterdome. He locks himself in his room at night. Raleigh knows that Chuck still isn’t sleeping, but now, there’s not much he can do to help the guy (short of breaking down hotel doors, of course).

Raleigh’s intimately familiar with how it feels to wake up, locked in the loss of a Drift partner. It’s a unique sort of agony. As much as Chuck had genuinely irritated him before, Raleigh can’t ignore that sort of pain. Their loss is not the same, of course, but any loss is exponentially worse when you’re alone.

~*~

It’s late at night. Raleigh and Mako are sitting on the couch in their suite, Mako’s lips pressed into a thin line. It’s hard to plan where to travel next when Chuck grunts and responds in monosyllabic snarls. They’re trying to be understanding, but it’s getting harder. Travelling inland seemed to make Chuck uneasy, but their short-lived trip to the Spanish coast had made it worse. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that being near the ocean triggers more of Chuck’s moods.

“It’s not your fault,” Raleigh says softly. Mako frowns at him, and he shrugs. “Mako. We both thought it would help him.”

“I thought it would be good to get away from the Shatterdome,” she replies. She shakes her head in defeat, then admits, “I did not expect this. He is taking his loss much harder than I thought.”

Raleigh says nothing. It’s not his place; he had only caught glimpses of the relationship between father and son, mixed into the whirlwind of those days before they’d hit the Breach. Honestly, it hadn’t seemed like a happy relationship—terse words and cutting remarks, coupled with Herc’s constant presence at Pentecost’s side had given Raleigh the impression that the Hansens weren’t exactly close. On the other hand, though, their Drift Compatibility coupled with their kill count means that they couldn’t entirely have hated one another. There has to be a base level of trust there, or the Drift will fail.

He doesn’t dare suggest they journey to Australia. The Australian government clamors for a visit from their native hero, of course, but that’s not the point of their vacation. None of them want the attention; they’ve all given enough, Raleigh thinks. They’d given interviews immediately after the Breach had been sealed, and for the most part, people in the towns they’ve visited have been courteous enough to give them space. That doesn’t hold true in the cities, and Raleigh doesn’t even want to know what it would be like if they visit Mako or Chuck’s hometowns. Mako doesn’t talk about it, but Raleigh can see the way her lips thin whenever she gets another email requesting she visit Tokyo.

~*~

They travel to Italy next. The food is fantastic, and it’s fairly easy to lose themselves amongst the tourists during summer. They don’t visit the popular spots, of course, but there’s still plenty to keep Raleigh and Mako occupied.

Chuck’s not sure what the appeal is about giant marble buildings. Sure, they were fancy at one point, and building them without modern tech probably sucked, but they’re nothing more than relics now. It figures that Raleigh would enjoy them, being a relic himself. He’d commented as much the other night, only to watch Raleigh’s mood drop and Mako’s eyes flash warningly.

To be frank, he’s surprised they’ve lasted this long. He’ll give them credit, of course. Most people tire of his attitude much quicker than this. Chuck wonders exactly how they’ll go about it; neither one of them are the type to just not come back one night, he concedes to himself. He wonders if it will be Becket and his melancholy, understanding eyes, or Mako and her firm, quiet authority. Either way, he knows it’s coming. Not like he doesn’t know that he pisses them off and ruins the mood, so, whatever.

Chuck’s used to people shrugging him off and leaving him behind. This is no different.

~*~

Max, of course, takes no notice of the tension. As ever, the dog is relaxed and at ease in his new surroundings. Chuck worries that his dog is going to get fat from all the morsels he keeps stealing. As it is, he’s surprised he hasn’t lost shape; fresh food is delicious, and he can’t deny that it’s much easier to come by here.

Instead, he pours himself into morning runs. And evening runs. Sometimes even midday runs. He doesn’t quite trust himself to swimming in the ocean, though he’s been tempted a time or two.

He comes back from his late night run, surprised to find the lights on. When he’d left, both Becket and Mako had been asleep. Chuck is familiar with how Becket doesn’t always sleep the night through—bastard has a habit of pacing, and the floor creaks in the middle—but he’s usually not up just now. Chuck has mastered the art of slipping in and out. At his feet, Max starts wagging his tail and snuffling excitedly as he notices that someone’s waiting for them. The little cottage they’re renting is set apart from the little town, up on a hill. Peaceful and pretty enough, Chuck guesses; as far as he’s concerned, it just means there are fewer people to bother him.

He opens the door, steeling himself. He’s still unsure who it will be worse to hear it from. At least if it’s Becket, he can spit venom at him and maybe even goad him into a fight. With Mako… well, Chuck’s not above starting shit with her, except then he’d feel bad. He’s not afraid of Mako Mori, of course, but he’d rather not face that look of disapproval she’s inherited from the Marshal, thank you very much.

As he rounds the corner into the tiny kitchen, Chuck notes quickly that it’s Raleigh. He’s sitting slumped over at the table, his head resting on his folded arms. There’s an empty mug in front of him, and Chuck hushes Max before he can wake the sod. It’s unusual to find Becket sleeping on the table; maybe a mug of tea has actually helped his insomnia for once.

Beckoning to his dog, Chuck makes to sneak toward the bedrooms. No use in disrupting what little sleep the insomniac got, Chuck isn’t _that_ much of an arse. He pauses, though, once he feels the chilled breeze running through the window. The fresh air is nice, but the chill on the breeze is noticeable. He hesitates, then swears at himself. It’s Becket’s own damn fault for falling asleep in front of a window, and it’s no skin off Chuck’s nose if the bastard catches the sniffles.

This in no way explains why Chuck doubles back after stowing Max into their room. He makes quick work of moving the mug to a safe distance, then closing the window most of the way. That should take care of most of the chill. He dims the lights, hesitating slightly at the doorway.

It’s stupid. He doesn’t want to be responsible for Becket, much less for waking him up. Chuck feels awkward, however, watching the other man sleep. How the hell had Becket managed to sit there and watch him sleep back at the Shatterdome? It’s still creepy as fuck to think about, and before he can really figure out what he’s thinking, Chuck wants to return the favor. It will serve Becket right, waking up and finding someone sitting there gawping at his stupid sleeping face.

~*~

Chuck doesn’t quite make it until Becket wakes up. It’s late as fuck, and Chuck realizes quickly that it might actually be a while before Becket wakes up. It goes very quickly from ‘teaching a lesson’ to something a lot more awkward, and Chuck’s not sure how to deal with that.

~*~

The next night, it’s raining. Chuck paces back and forth impatiently brimming with energy to burn and no outlet. Max paces to and fro at his side, like it’s some sort of game. He’s gotten used to their multiple runs, and Chuck debates the merits of whether or not running in the rain is worth it.

He turns on his heel to continue pacing, only to draw up short when he nearly bowls Mako over. She backs up a pace, and Chuck frowns as she holds out her tablet. He’s been ignoring his own tablet, fed up with the useless emails and notifications from everybody and their second cousin wanting something.

“I received an email from our PR,” she says carefully, dark eyes fastened on him. Chuck studiously avoids glancing at the screen. “Have you been checking your email?”

“Thought we were on vacation,” he returns airily. Mako’s lips thin, unimpressed.

“Our representative says you have not responded,” she says, still measuring her words carefully. “There is someone trying to get in touch with you, Chuck.”

“No one important,” he says, voice sharpening. Before she can react, he shrugs and pushes past her. They’ve stressed over and over to him that they’re on vacation, that they’ve earned the chance for some space. Chuck figures that gives him the right to ignore as many emails as he wants to. Not like they’re life-threatening matters anymore, right?

Chuck ends up going out for a run anyway. The rain is cold enough to drive away his thoughts, even if Max is going to reek of wet dog for the rest of the night.

~*~

Raleigh seems to be making a habit of sleeping in the common areas these nights. When he comes back, soaked to the skin and numbed, Chuck finds Raleigh sleeping in the living room. He’s lying on his back on the floor, and Chuck knows he’s exercised himself to sleep.

It’s odd. In the last few weeks traveling around with Team Gipsy 2.0, he’s started to pick up on their habits and quirks. He’s been around multiple other teams over the years, but never bothered to learn their little idiosyncrasies like this. He’s not even sure why it matters now, not when he’s still waiting for them to politely tell him to bugger off.

Now, though, he knows how Mako takes her tea in the morning versus her preferences in the afternoon, and he knows that Becket will exercise until he quite literally falls asleep on the floor on the days when he’s more haunted than normal.

For a long, long minute, Chuck stands above Becket. The man looks younger when he’s asleep, though his hair looks ridiculously fluffed out from this angle. His tank is rucked up from his crunches, and Chuck snorts. He wants to nudge him with his soggy sneaker; hell, he kind of wants to stand right over him so he drips rainwater on him.

Instead, Chuck sighs. He’s not going to wait around for Becket to wake up. He just doesn’t want to hear the idiot complaining tomorrow when his back is sore, so he sets a pillow from the couch down next to Raleigh’s cheek and a blanket within hand’s reach. There. Now at least he’d be able to find them if he woke up, and Chuck won’t have to listen to him bitch about his neck or anything. Win-win for all involved.

Chuck turns and whistles lowly, summoning Max. He still needs to towel his dog off before he crashes, at the very least, so he hits the lights.

~*~

Waiting for the other shoe to drop sucks. Chuck has never been renowned for his patience. He wants to scream, but holds it in. Instead he deals with the rising tension day by day, tightening in his chest like a screw being stripped. A stripped screw in a jaeger can lead to catastrophic malfunction; he wonders if one day he’s going to make a move and shear something off inside himself. A jaeger, he knows how to fix, but this, not so much.

Truthfully, Chuck still has no idea where he’s going to go when they suck it up and tell him straight. The Shatterdome in Hong Kong has finished shutting down, and Chuck is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of places recommended for them to visit.

He hears them at night, of course. Mako and Raleigh aren’t as quiet as they think, or maybe he just isn’t sleeping. Either way, he can still hear the two of them trying—and failing—to figure out where to travel next. For someone as precise and organized as Mako, Chuck finds it unnerving that she’s uncertain of anything. Knowing that he’s the cause of this uncertainty, however, sits uneasily in his gut. He can’t hear every word, mind, but he can certainly pick up on how their trains of thought both fall into silence once his name pops up in the conversation.

They’re trying to be considerate, he reckons. Trying to figure out where to venture next, somewhere that (theoretically) all three of them will enjoy. It’s easy to see the pleasure that traveling brings to both Raleigh and Mako; Chuck feels _listless_ in comparison. Chuck knows they’ll figure out soon, if they haven’t already. Chuck is the reason they linger here, the reason their little retreat from the world has sputtered to a halt. He’s the reason they can’t agree on a next destination.

He keeps thinking he should figure out somewhere to go, at least answer that problem for them. If he leaves first, then they don’t have to worry about it anymore, and they can figure it out from there. Chuck keeps drawing a blank, however. He can think of several places Herc had toured and liked well enough, but he doesn’t dare dwell on those. Oz is out, too, especially with the increasingly-frequent emails from people he’d rather avoid.

Frowning to himself, Chuck finally stabs his finger at several random points on the travel program he’s downloaded. The program begins suggesting lists of nearby places to visit based on his random points, and he saves them all. It’s better than nothing, and helps him sleep, knowing that he did _something_ in preparation for the inevitable.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think :) I like hearing whether or not you're enjoying, or if you spot things I've missed (tense changes, typos, et cetera). Reviews encourage my muse to come back out of hiding :P


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is a little... intense. I've had this one written for a quite a while, but I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. So on we go. This chapter's longer than the others, too, I think.
> 
> I updated the story tags with nightmares and panic attacks, so if that's something that triggers you, proceed with caution.

~*~

Chuck takes his brekkie early, to avoid the others. Both he and Mako rise early—years of ingrained habit are hard to lose, after all. Sometimes, he and Mako bump into one another. They share silence as the sun rises, and it’s not bad. Comforting, even, if silence can be such a thing. Mako doesn’t expect pointless small talk, and he doesn’t feel obligated to start conversation.

Chuck finds these mornings relaxing. He and Mako have crossed paths more than once over the years. They were never quite friends—Chuck had no use for _friends,_ old man, so bugger off—but they shared similar goals and interests… and Chuck had never turned down a challenge in the Kwoon. In some ways, he thinks Mako understands him better than most.

Still, she’s never been one for beating around the bush and evading the truth. Chuck can’t help but wonder why she hasn’t told him they want him to leave yet.

~*~

They stay in Italy for one week, and then another. The little cottage is starting to feel almost familiar, even if the constant sunshine is surreal. Chuck almost misses concrete walls and metal-grated floors.

It’s much, much harder than he ever imagined it would be to get used to having only one bed in his room. There’s no room for another bed in the tiny room, but the room feels vast like an ocean in the depth of the night.

~*~

It’s a mistake from the moment of conception, and later, Chuck will kick himself for not ducking out. He blames another restless night, and the fact that the sheets were too tangled. If he’d been rested, he never would have agreed to go into Venice. Becket insists that the canals are worth seeing, however, and so they go.

It’s been a little while since anyone’s bothered them in public. A few requests for photographs and signings, and most people leave them alone. This, however, is closer to a mauling. It’s not long before they’re cornered, too many hands reaching out for a touch of the Heroes, the ones who saved them from the kaiju.

Chuck’s used to the attention. Raleigh is a little rusty, but he’s polite and easy-going enough. Mako, who never had to deal with the crush of publicity and media from being a pilot, is a little hesitant and unsure. It’s not so much that strangers will notice, of course, Mako will never allow strangers to see her weak points. Still, Chuck can see her unease and Raleigh’s strained smile—tight at the edges of his eyes and mouth—and he shrugs and raises his voice louder, making it about him, taking the attention by force.

After all, Chuck Hansen isn’t exactly someone you ignore.

~*~

“Do you think your papa would have lived if you went with him?”

Raleigh immediately tenses when he hears the question. It’s a tiny kid asking, a little girl clutching a well-worn figure of Lucky Seven, and Raleigh can feel the tension in Chuck’s body from a yard away. He’s gone completely silent. Raleigh doesn’t think he’s ever seen a moment where Chuck was silent when confronted, especially not in such a public manner.

He abandons the autograph he’s signing for a teenager. Already, the little girl’s mother is apologizing, her eyes wide with embarrassed mortification and awkwardness. He neatly inserts himself in front of the little girl, summoning up his best smile as he edges Chuck back.

“We’re gonna go, okay?” He asks, waving off the mother’s stuttering. Pitching his voice up, Raleigh calls out, “Thanks, everyone, but we’re just on vacation, okay? We’re going to miss our flight.”

He knows it’s rude, but he keeps a firm hand on Chuck’s elbow, towing him along through the crowd. Mako is by his side, stride matched perfectly to his as they flee. Chuck doesn’t protest or argue—not even about Raleigh’s tight grip on the crook of his arm.

~*~

The cottage is quiet that night, and Mako dislikes this particular kind of quiet. There’s no bantering, no small talk, not even any arguing between the men. Max is uncharacteristically mopey; he didn’t watch them eat dinner, which is unusual considering Chuck’s penchant for feeding his bulldog from his own plate.

Chuck is upset, of course, and Mako is grateful that he didn’t lash out at the little girl. She’d been bracing for an explosion, but Chuck had simply… shut down. She can’t even recall if he’s spoken since they returned that afternoon, cutting their trip short.

Raleigh is silent, too. He will not say it, but he’d been looking forward to seeing the canals. His mother had always been sweet on the canals of Venice, and Raleigh had been excited to see them in person for himself. Having the trip cut short, however, has dampened something inside of Raleigh’s bright eyes.

For a moment, earlier, Mako had even imagined that this was how brightly Raleigh had shone before a cold winter night off the Anchorage shoreline. That brightness to his soul is still there, just tarnished. Mako can empathize, and seeing Raleigh saddened now hurts something within her own heart.

Not knowing how to even attempt to reach out to Chuck, however, hurts worse. At least with Raleigh, she has an innate sense of him. She has never been one to make contact easily, of course, but the Drift makes it easier, makes it an afterthought. She does not have the benefit of Drifting with Chuck, and she is unsure whether or not that would have even helped. After all, she can still see the lines of weariness within Herc Hansen’s face.

There were plenty of nights when Herc had been working late with Mako and the Marshal, trying to make things work somehow. There were several nights when Mako had left to attend one task or another on the Marshal’s behalf, only to return to find the men discussing something else. They’d redirected once they’d noticed her, but Mako was not unaware of the tension between the Hansens. It’s a deep well she is not willing to delve into, not unless she is asked.

~*~

_He’s standing in front of the monitors, trapped and helpless. He wants to scream, but he can’t, there’s not enough air in the world for the scream building in his chest. Red, blue, and green lights surround him, but the only thing that matters are the little blips on the screen. One reads Striker Eureka, and it’s flashing warnings all over the place—_

_And Chuck is cemented in place. He can’t move, he can’t even speak, he can only listen—_

_“The release is jammed! We can’t—”_

_And then he’s locked into the harness. It should feel like home, he’s been there often enough, but it feels dead_ wrong _, the joints stiff and heavy, the rig too slow—_

_“What are you doing?” Herc demands, panic washing through the Drift. He sounds strangled, it’s hard to turn his head and look over to the side. Chuck’s vision blurs as an impact slams into Striker’s torso, tearing through structural support. Chuck’s body burns in sympathy, but Herc’s bleeding, he’s bleeding and looks burnt—_

_“Why aren’t you helping me?” Herc demands. Chuck is frozen, he feels empty and torn inside, something’s missing, and there are claws tearing into his chest to take out his heart, it’s coming for him and his father is—_

~*~

“ _Noooooooo!”_

Raleigh drops his book, startled. He’s on his feet before the strangled howl ends, striding for the closed door. Mako meets him in the hall, concerned and a little frightened. Raleigh glances at her, then announces, “I’m going in there.”

They’ve left Chuck alone with his nightmares for long enough. He’s _never_ screamed like this, and the sound is haunting.

The doors in the cottage are hardly up to Shatterdome-level sturdiness, and the door gives way with a crunch when he lays his shoulder into it. He bursts into the room, only to nearly be tackled right back into the hallway. He stumbles, then goes down under Chuck’s weight. He hits the floor, rolling instinctively. Chuck is heavy and solid above him, but he’s also tangled in his sheets, breathing harshly. He goes limp almost as soon as Raleigh pins him to the ground, Max circling the pair in frantic concern.

“No, boy,” Raleigh says distractedly, pushing the dog back. He doesn’t want Chuck to lash out and accidentally hurt his dog, not when his eyes are flashing side to side without really registering anything. Without needing to look back, he tells Mako, “No, leave the lights off.”

The light from the hallway is enough, spilling across the floor. There are wet streaks on Chuck’s cheeks, and Raleigh is abruptly struck by how young the guy is. He’s not even twenty-two, younger even than Mako, and it _shows_ for the first time. It’s kind of a stunning revelation to have now, and Raleigh forces it to the back of his mind. This isn’t just another nightmare, not if it has Chuck cringing away and looking so completely out of it. Raleigh’s not even sure if the guy is completely awake or not.

“Hey,” he says, somewhat uselessly. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Chuck. Hey. You with me here?”

Chuck chokes on a breath, deep in his throat. There are more tears trickling down his cheek now, and his hair is an unruly mess as he stares at the wall opposite from his bed. Raleigh almost panics, thinking that Chuck’s completely checked out, that they might really need a psychiatrist or someone professionally trained for all of this—

And then something clicks.

“Chuck, hey,” he says, voice pitched low. “C’mon. Work with me here. Can you—”

Chuck twists in his grip, trying to get away, but the motion is weak. Raleigh eases up on his grip a little bit, and that seems to calm the other man just a bit. Chuck is breathing shallowly, eyes still streaming, and Raleigh grasps for a straw.

“You’re worrying Max, you know,” he says, careful to keep his voice level and inoffensive. He doesn’t try to sound placating, just tries to keep calm and easy. To his dismay, however, Chuck’s face twists in agony.

“Max, oh, Jesus, where’s Max?” He babbles, voice higher-pitched than normal. “I promised—”

“Whoa, hey, he’s right here,” Raleigh reassures him. Max darts in, appearing like a miracle or something, and Chuck makes a strangled noise. He reaches for his dog and Raleigh shifts to let him up. Chuck wraps both arms around Max, sitting up and hauling him close. For a moment, Raleigh relaxes, thinking that he’s made the right move. Max licks at his master’s face, squirming, and then nosing at Chuck’s torso, just over his heart.

Chuck gasps for air, knife twisting in his chest.

~*~

He can’t help it. The world makes no sense right now, and he just _hurts_ in a way he can’t even pin down. Can Max sense it? Can Max sense the way Chuck’s missing something inside, the tangled up wreckage left behind? He has to, the critter is bloody smart, he has to be able to _tell_ that Chuck can’t figure out which way is up.

He promised his father he would take care of Max (or was it the other way around?), but he can’t even take care of himself. He couldn’t even stop himself from busting his arm right when they’d all needed him the most—

He can’t stop being haunted by the goddamn emptiness to his right.

Max squirms, unused to this sort of behavior. Chuck can’t blame him for trying to get away, but he can’t bring himself to let go. Max licks at his face, and Chuck thinks maybe that means he’s crying, but there’s a tearing, ripping pain in his chest.

He doesn’t have the strength to fight when gentle hands pull his hand away from his chest. It stings, it burns, but those same hands hold on. Chuck gasps for breath, and there’s a shift. Someone says something above his head, and then someone is working their arms around him. He can’t summon the strength to protest, not when…

He slumps sideways, not even caring when Raleigh adjusts his grip. Max is standing on his thighs, paws scrabbling for purchase as he licks at Chuck’s face. Chuck hugs Max to his chest, unable to let go.

“See, Max is fine,” Raleigh says. He sounds really close, and Chuck swallows hard, trying to get himself back under control. “Max is fine, he’s right here.”

“I know, Becket,” he manages. Distantly, he knows he needs to pull away, maybe even deck the bloke in the face, regain control somehow. He can’t, though. He pushes away, tries to stand up with Max in his arms. He’s off-balance, however, and there’s something preventing his feet from moving—and his mind blurs, and he’s suddenly back in the Conn-Pod.

“No,” he croaks, lurching forward. He trips, and two sets of hands come out to brace him. A confusing blur of motion, and he’s falling—

“We’ve got you,” Raleigh breathes into his ear. Becket’s uncomfortably close, but Chuck is horribly aware of how much of his weight is supported by the older man right now. His feet are trapped, and he can’t get his own balance, and Becket is whispering soft little sympathies into his ear. Any other day, and Chuck would rip Becket’s spine out through his nose, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping him from crumpling. He can’t feel his legs, and the idea of moving seems impossible.

“Mako, can you get the sheet?” Raleigh turns away to ask. Chuck belatedly registers Mako’s presence along his right side, and she ducks to free him from his prison. For a second, his mind threatens to slide back into the horror of being trapped and unable to move, but Raleigh’s right there, one hand firm on Chuck’s left bicep, the other hand rubbing at his right shoulder. “Chuck, hey. Wanna sit down?”

Somehow, Raleigh knows better than to even suggest the bed. When Chuck manages a shaky nod, his throat too thick to manage words quite yet, Raleigh urges him toward the door. It’s a weird, awkward shuffle of limbs and bodies, but then Chuck finds himself in the living room. Mako disappears briefly, but Max settles readily into Chuck’s lap. He’s too big to be a lapdog, but his sturdy weight is comforting, grounding, and so Chuck knits his fingers into Max’s ruff and holds on to stop from falling apart.

~*~

Mako takes a moment in the kitchen, holding tightly to the edge of the sink. She struggles not to shake, but it’s hard.

The _scream…_ she has never heard Chuck sound like that.

Several years ago, Striker Eureka had taken a claw straight through the left thigh, crippling the Jaeger’s left leg. Mako had been with Sensei at that point, able to detect the way Stacker Pentecost had tensed ever-so-slightly as Striker went to one knee, the Category III code-named Charun rearing above them. Mako still remembers the voices over the comms, the panic in LOCCENT as they prepared to watch another team go down. The monitor had shown just how much damage the left side had taken—and even then, Chuck had never screamed like this. The sound still rings in her ears, an echoing reminder of other Ranger teams through the years, other pilots Mako has heard that horrible sound from.

Chuck had sounded like he was _dying_ , and Mako is the last person he needs right now.

She is a little stunned to realize just how deep Chuck’s grief goes. Intellectually, she’s understood the Drift for years; more recently, she has actual, first-hand knowledge of the Drift. She’d believed she’d known the relationship between Chuck and Herc Hansen—contentious, certainly, but on the same page for the ultimate goal. Their Drift numbers were within the range of acceptability. Those numbers had dipped minutely over the years, wavering, but ultimately, they were able to complete their objectives when they deployed.

She had been such an _idiot_ back then.

She knows now, the depth of the loss of losing a Drift partner. Raleigh’s loss had been enough to absorb in their first Drift, but that had been secondhand. It failed to touch the depths of her loss during those horrifying, endless moments when he hadn’t been breathing after resurfacing from the Breach. There’s more, there’s _so much more_ than just focusing on the end goal, and Mako knows that now.

Her heart aches with the loss of Sensei, but Chuck’s grief must go much deeper than that. This is the sort of loss that will never fade; much like Sensei had never been the same after losing Tamsin, nor Raleigh after losing Yancy, Chuck will never be the same, either.

Her fingers tighten into the porcelain of the sink edge. Several months ago, she would have said that Chuck Hansen would not have been affected by the loss of his father, because they were not close. Now, though, she knows better.

~*~

Raleigh is torn. Chuck had been little more than dead weight on the way to the living room, stumbling and uncharacteristically clumsy. He’d sat willingly enough, all but clinging to Max like a life preserver, but his eyes still don’t seem focused. On the other hand, though, Mako has disappeared, too. Raleigh can feel the tension, knows that Mako’s upset and shaken, but he still has trouble knowing when she needs space and when she needs someone to pull her out of her own head.

He looks helplessly toward the kitchen, then back at Chuck. The guy is staring off into nothing, his breathing still shallow, and he looks terrible. He never even reacted when Raleigh had tucked a thin blanket around his shoulders, but he has no idea what to do now. Chuck’s not exactly a tactile guy at the best of times, and Raleigh’s kind of surprised Chuck hasn’t thrown him off and stormed away.

With another glance toward the kitchen, Raleigh carefully reaches out. Clasping his hand around Chuck’s forearm, he clears his throat.

“Hey,” he starts, low and careful. Chuck jerks, and Raleigh lowers his voice more. “Hey, Chuck. You with me?”

Raleigh feels the muscles in Chuck’s forearm tense at that, and he half-expects the guy to take a swing. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t, so he tries again.

“You’re still breathing kind of fast,” he notes calmly. “Okay? Can you bring that back under control?”

It’s almost sad, the way that Chuck tenses at that. Raleigh bitterly supposes that years upon years of training on how to _not_ panic while in the Conn-Pod make it second-hand nature, but that’s not what Raleigh wants to be focusing on right now. Everything else about the PPDC aside, though, they’d drilled pilots on best methods to stay in control, how to regulate breathing in case of various emergencies. That’s not what Raleigh wants to focus on, though. He wants Chuck to ground himself, not to think he’s in the Conn-Pod, so Raleigh shifts closer. He grips the back of Chuck’s hand, urging him to splay his palm over more of Max’s shoulders.

“We’re going to count, okay?” He murmurs, coaxing Chuck to start petting Max again. “Six counts, okay?”

Chuck breathes raggedly, but he grits his teeth and complies. Raleigh can see the way the muscle in his jaw flexes, but ignores it in favor of counting out heartbeats. Using his own, he guides Chuck into a steady breathing cadence. Six in, hold for two, breathe out for six; it’s a pattern Raleigh’s used for years to ground himself, a steady, easy rhythm.

After a few cycles, Chuck’s breathing starts to even out. Raleigh can feel his body starting to slacken as the tension eases off, but he doesn’t stop counting. Chuck’s petting Max’s head almost robotically, but he doesn’t stop when Raleigh pulls his hand back. He does slump into Raleigh, just slightly, and Raleigh braces him easily.

It’s weird, having Chuck Hansen leaning into him like this. This is, after all, the same man who immediately barricaded himself in his room once he’d woken up to find Raleigh offering his help. Now, though, Chuck shows no sign of yanking away as he breathes, and Raleigh’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad sign.

By the time Mako rejoins them, Raleigh’s no longer counting out loud. Chuck has picked up the rhythm on his own, breathing in sync with Raleigh.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **hides**
> 
> Like I said, I've had 4/5 of this chapter written for the past 6 weeks or so, but I wasn't happy with where it ended. Anyway, I've been dealing with stress and things IRL, so it was hard for me to get this chapter the way I wanted. It's intense, but I think it's going to be a littler cathartic in the long run. I promise, this isn't just going to be an endless-angst fic where you suffer the whole time through and drown in it. 
> 
> As always, feedback is loved and constructive criticism is always handy. Next chapter is already halfway written, so we're getting places. Hopefully the wait is worth it for you guys!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up where the previous chapter left off.

For a long time, they sit in silence. No one says anything. The silence is almost worse, just for that. Chuck doesn’t know how to break the silence, what to say. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s clearly keeping them from sleep. He’s used to his presence commanding attention, but he hates knowing the reason they’re all out here is because he couldn’t keep his damned mouth shut.

Chuck focuses on Max, on hitting just the right spots to keep his dog relaxed and boneless as a puddle in his lap. He focuses on the warmth of Max, on the feel of his fur. He very deliberately does not focus on Raleigh, or on Mako. They’re both off to his right, and it settles him more than he cares to think about.

It feels weird, but the idea of getting up and leaving seems impossible. He can’t bear the idea of their eyes on him like that, so he focuses on Max, on breathing six in, six out, until it’s ingrained. Everything else can just wait. Nothing matters in the silence, only breathing and holding on to the concrete facts pinning him to the present.

~*~

“Chuck,” Mako says softly, some time later. “We need to talk.”

Immediately, Chuck tenses. He’s not exactly pressed up tight to Raleigh, but he’s close enough Raleigh can’t possibly miss it. He straightens, his fingers tightening in Max’s ruff, and Raleigh forces himself not to react to the sudden shift, not to make Chuck get defensive and shut down entirely.

“Not a chance,” Chuck says flatly. He straightens himself up now, pulling away from Raleigh. For a fleeting second, Raleigh wants to pull him back—then remembers exactly who is next to him. The fact that Chuck had even leaned on him in the first place speaks volumes, but he’s not going to smother him. Chuck would never stand for it.

Mako shifts on Raleigh’s other side, leaning forward to brace her elbows on her thighs. Her voice is quiet and steady, but Raleigh can feel the steel beneath her tone.

“You need to speak to someone,” she tells him bluntly. “Chuck, you did not tell me the—”

“What, that I have nightmares?” Chuck interrupts, anger flaring. “Doesn’t everyone? Doesn’t mean I need to be coddled, Mori.”

“Then perhaps you should still be checking in with your assigned psychiatrist,” Mako returns sharply. Chuck’s jaw clenches, and Mako informs him, “I cannot keep responding to your emails, Chuck.”

That comes as news to Raleigh. He knew that Mako spends time in the morning keeping up on news from the PPDC as it dissolves—treaties in place for the future in case the kaiju come back—but he didn’t know that she’s been keeping up on Chuck’s emails, too. Not too many people want to get hold of Raleigh, but it sounds like there’s more important things that Chuck’s ignoring.

“I respond to the important ones,” Chuck snaps. “Dr. Lindbergh is up to date. I’m alive. I’m not sick. End of story.”

Mako looks anything but convinced by that, and her lips thin in disapproval. Before she can say anything, however, Chuck pushes to his feet. Max looks confused at the abrupt change, a little lost at suddenly finding himself on the floor.

“C’mon, Max,” Chuck orders. The bulldog responds gamely enough—slow at first, but then eagerly as he figures out Chuck is heading for the back door. In a blink, the two are gone, and Raleigh exhales wearily.

~*~

The next day passes in awkward silence. Chuck avoids Raleigh and Mako the best he can. He is so frustrated about his display, and it enrages him. He doesn’t need their bloody pity, he _doesn’t._

He spends the day outdoors with Max. His dog enjoys the fresh air, and has no problem sleeping at Chuck’s side as he stares across the landscape.

~*~

Raleigh doesn’t push the issue. He and Mako let Chuck have his space, and they don’t actually see him until the day after his panic attack.

Raleigh’s just come back from his mid-morning run, and he pauses as he passes by the living room. Mako is out picking up some ingredients for supper, so Raleigh’s interested to see Chuck in the living room. He’s sitting in the armchair, tablet out, and he aborts his path toward the shower in favor of checking in. Chuck looks better than he did the other night; the circles under his eyes have faded, and he doesn’t look nearly as haunted.

“What’s that?” Raleigh asks, interested. He doesn’t normally see Chuck with his tablet out, much less actively doing anything on it. Now, though, his screen looks lit up with pictures of some sort, and Raleigh’s curious. He has his pictures, of course, but he’s never seen Chuck with any sort of mementos. Well, unless you counted Max, but Max is a lot more personable and likeable than a mere memento.

“’S nothing,” Chuck says quickly. He glares at Raleigh, but he’s not deterred. He catches glimpses of misty mountains, and cranes his neck for a better look.

“Mount Jiuhua?” He asks, intrigued. Chuck’s eyes widen for a split second before narrowing, and then he’s glaring.

“Anyone ever told you it’s rude to go lookin’ over other people’s shoulders?” He demands. Raleigh doesn’t take the bait, and Chuck flips his tablet over.

“Since it’s summer, that place is gonna be—”

“Gonna be none of your business, mate,” Chuck sneers. “So why don’t you just back off?”

“What do you mean?” Raleigh asks, startled.

“You’re heading to America next,” Chuck says sharply. “Kinda the opposite way, now, isn’t it?”

Raleigh pauses. There’s a sharp edge to Chuck’s tone, one he isn’t sure about, and he doesn’t know where this is coming from.

“We can do both,” he says slowly. “We’re not on a timeline, right? We can go anywhere we want, Chuck.”

“Yeah, sure,” Chuck snarls. Raleigh fights down the urge to hold up his hands and fidget at the intensity of that gaze, instead frowning. What the hell is Chuck so upset about? “Don’t need your pity, _Ra_ -leigh.”

“It’s not pity,” Raleigh retorts. He’s a lot more patient than he used to be, sure, but he’s not exactly a saint. “We’re all in this together, right?”

Chuck’s eyes widen again, and he freezes. He’s staring up at Raleigh, and Raleigh has no idea for the life of him what’s going on.

“Chuck?” He asks. He wishes Mako were here, because while he can deal with a combative Chuck, he’s not sure how to deal with a Chuck looking like he’s confused and stunned. “What? We thought you wanted to go.”

“You’re not askin’ me to leave?” Chuck asks roughly, and Raleigh freezes.

“What? Chuck, no,” he says quickly, horrified. “ _No._ What—why would you—?”

“Don’t waste your breath, _Ra-_ leigh,” Chuck spits. He stands up in a flash, Max instinctively leaning away so as not to tangle his master’s feet up. His eyes flash dangerously, and he snarls, “Don’t need you to hold my hand, _mate._ I’m not a child.”

~*~

Chuck can’t stop the flood of anger. It’s enough that Becket had broken down his bloody door because of a nightmare, enough that he and Mori had seen him controlled by his emotions. Chuck can’t _stand_ the idea of their pity any longer. The idea that Becket and Mori, of all people, won’t even do him the favor of nutting up and telling him that they’d prefer to travel without him burns in the very center of his chest.

He’s in mid-stride, intending to leave when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Instantly, Chuck spins on his heel, lashing out with a right cross.

Becket responds immediately, and just like that, Chuck’s control breaks.

~*~

If there’s one thing that Mako enjoys the most, it’s the ready availability of fresh ingredients to cook with. She might not be the best cook, but there’s something familiar about working with specific measurements of different things in order to create a fully cohesive whole. The smell of fresh bread is comforting to her, as is the luxurious taste of fresh ingredients. Privately, she thinks she might never be able to stomach Shatterdome food again.

The cottage is quiet when Mako comes home. It takes every ounce of her will to refrain from commenting on the fresh bruises on Raleigh’s shoulders or Chuck’s split lip.

~*~

It’s strange. After weeks of feeling stretched thin and on edge, Chuck just feels… empty inside. His lip throbs, he’s pretty sure several of his ribs are bruised, he’s got a bruise on his left thigh that feels bone-deep.

He feels empty, like that fight with Becket has purged all of that yawning tension from him.

Somehow, he doesn’t think this is what his therapist had in mind.

~*~

Breakfast the next morning is strangely subdued. Raleigh isn’t there, and Chuck wonders if he’s feeling as sore as he is. He thinks Becket might even be a little worse for the wear; Raleigh hadn’t really wanted to fight, but Chuck hadn’t left him much choice.

For a bit, Chuck thinks that breakfast is going to pass the same way as it normally does. That illusion doesn’t last, of course. Mako finishes her tea, setting the cup on the saucer with a deceptively delicate grace. Chuck knows better, and he looks up just as Mako rises from her seat. She drops three tickets on the table top. She waits a second, ensuring she has his attention before dropping a fourth across them.

He looks up. Mako’s demure calm is gone; he can see the steel in her eyes, that fire and determination that’s landed him on his ass in the Kwoon before. This time is different—he knows exactly how he’s ended up there this time.

“We are going to the States,” she says firmly. He presses his lips into a firm line, but Mako continues, “Never _once_ have we asked you to leave, Chuck. That is _your_ decision, and yours only. If you want to leave, there is your ticket—but do _not_ accuse us of wanting you to leave.”

He says nothing. Mako’s anger is noticeable, but underneath that, he can see something else. It sorts of stuns him, seeing that Mako’s upset with him. She’s not upset because he’s run his mouth off and insulted her, she’s upset because he’s done something else, and he doesn’t quite know how to deal with this.

“I was the one who forced you to come,” she says harshly, and Chuck’s eyes snap to hers. “You are not the only one who has lost a father.”

Chuck freezes. None of them talk about it, and yet it makes sense that it’s Mako who will be blunt with him. The look in her eyes—unyielding, intense—makes him bite his tongue.

“We are not asking you to leave,” she tells him, and Chuck feels sick as her voice wavers just a tiny bit. It occurs to him that she’s trying to help him; this is Mako’s way of trying to help him. Mako hadn’t been able to stand the Shatterdome any more than he had, and she’d _taken him with her._ Mako had honestly tried to help him, and Chuck sort of can’t breathe, because when was the last time that someone realized what he needed before _he_ even knew, much less did something about it?

He doesn’t want to think about that, because he’s not sure he’s going to like where that line of questioning leads him.

“Yeah?” Chuck asks, unable to help himself. He has to know, he has to be sure; he can’t risk going into a situation without knowing all of the details available, because that’s exactly what gets people killed. “Not a very good tourist, Mako.”

“I am sure,” Mako replies. She’s studying him intensely enough to make him uncomfortable. Years of being under the scrutiny of others, however, has taught him how to remain still and to get by, and Chuck nods very slightly to her. The gesture feels weighted, but it eases the look on Mako’s face.

“It is easy to feel alone,” she says, after a pause. She swallows. Chuck knows that it takes quite a bit for her to admit this; neither of them are exactly the type to dwell on their emotions, not when there’s work to be done. She takes a shallow breath, then manages, “I couldn’t stay. Not in the Shatterdome.”

“Me, neither,” Chuck admits. For a long, long time, neither of them speak. It feels like a century before Chuck rises to his feet. Mako still looks strangely vulnerable—something he’s never associated with her—and he doesn’t like it. He awkwardly makes to touch her shoulder. He’s not much good with sentimentality, and he knows it. Mako doesn’t flinch, though, and he nods to her again before making his retreat.

~*~

He leaves the single ticket on the table. It’s gone by lunch.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter this time, eh? As always, please let me know what you think. Reviews are sustenance, and all that. In particular, let me know what you think about the last scene; it's hard to write Chuck and Mako, since you don't really get to see them talk to one another in the movie. I hope I did them justice. As always, un-betaed, any mistakes and typos are my own--let me know if you find any, so I can fix them!


	7. Chapter 7

> _Dear Chuck,_
> 
> _I know you don’t want to hear from me. Just wanted to let you know…_

Chuck stares at his screen and sighs. From his feet, Max echoes him, then looks up. As usual, Chuck can’t resist rubbing Max’s ears; there’s something about watching his dog mimic him that strikes him every time, and Chuck’s kind of weak for it.

He’s making an attempt to be better at keeping up on his correspondence. The PPDC public relations people have done a good job deterring most of the requests; they’d done their share after Operation Pitfall, and now they just want to move on. In the meantime, he lets his shrink know that he’s alive and whatever. He’s not like Mako or Raleigh; he doesn’t really have friends that want to keep in touch, doesn’t really have anyone left that wants to check on him. That’s fine; Chuck’s always preferred to keep people at arm’s length in favor of focusing on his job.

Most of his friends and comrades in arms haven’t made it this far, to see the world post-kaiju.

There’s still one person out there that’s trying to check in. Nothing pushy, strangely enough, but Chuck still can’t bring himself to respond.

Maybe tomorrow.

Not like Scott’s going anywhere, right?

~*~

After a quick, controlled public tour through New York City and the Capitol, they travel north to Maine. The medals and media are replaced with picturesque and peaceful mountains and scenery. Raleigh doesn’t mind doing the driving, especially considering neither Mako nor Chuck have much experience behind the wheel of a car. It’s more than a little depressing to think about that; while the war against the kaiju ruled everything, it strikes home for Raleigh. Neither of the other two had had the chance to learn the little, normal things, and it sucks.

Driving along the Maine coast with the windows down is one of life’s little pleasures. The radio is on, Mako is smiling and relaxed as she takes in the scenery, and Raleigh can feel the wind tangling his hair. Even Chuck’s bitching about the wind through the windows isn’t enough to completely hide the way he’s looking around, and Raleigh grins at the open road in front of him.

~*~

They stay in Maine for a couple of days. Mako and Raleigh take hikes, enjoying the fresh air and crisp breeze. It’s late summer, just starting to verge into fall.

“I do not think Chuck will accept anything for his birthday,” Mako warns when he brings it up. Raleigh makes a pained face; he’s well aware of that, of course, but he feels bad if he doesn’t even think about it. They’d done just a simple dinner for Mako’s birthday in April, back when they were still in Hong Kong. It had been a low-key affair, but Raleigh had made sure to make Mako’s favorite dishes as well as some of Stacker’s. It had been calm and relaxing, a low-key affair that had eased Mako’s stress.

He has no idea what to do about Chuck’s birthday.

~*~

“What’s this?” Chuck demands, eyeing the shape in his palm.

“Just try it,” Becket instructs. Chuck’s learned better than to protest by now. For some reason, Becket likes getting him and Mori to try new things. Chuck makes it difficult, just on principle, but Becket’s done all right introducing him to new things. He’s not sure about the little leaf-shaped sweet in his palm, though; who the hell makes candy out of tree sap? It’s strange enough that these Yanks tend to flavor just about everything with their maple syrup, but candy?

Raleigh waits for Chuck to try a piece before clearing his throat. Of course he had an ulterior motive, Chuck thinks with a grimace.

“Your birthday’s next week,” Raleigh notes. Instantly, Chuck’s jaw tenses, his mouth slowing around the candy. Raleigh holds up his hands and asks, “Just wanted to know what you wanted to do.”

“Nothing, Becket,” Chuck says, clearing his mouth. He swallows, then says calmly, “Just another day.”

He doesn’t quite understand the shadow that passes over Raleigh’s face at that. It’s not a big deal; it’s been a while since he’s been concerned with his birthday. Hell, as soon as he’d turned old enough to enter the Program, they were pretty much useless. The look on Becket’s face, though, bothers him, and Chuck swallows again.

“Pass me another?” He asks, tilting his head toward the little box. Sure enough, Raleigh looks pleased, that shadow disappearing in the wake of a shy little smile. He seems to get some kind of happiness out of giving Chuck things, useless little things, and Chuck doesn’t know what to make of it, so he ignores it.

“Maple candy’s one of Maine’s specialties,” Raleigh says. He hesitates, just a touch, then says, “My mother and sister always loved it. They always got a box to themselves at Christmas.”

Chuck bites his initial response back. Raleigh doesn’t talk about his own family much. Last time made a sharp little comment (without thinking), Raleigh had shut down for the rest of the night and disappeared. Chuck sort of feels bad about it, because he’s not a heartless bastard. Even he has his limits, but he likes to think that this downtime is helping him—doing him good.

Hell, sometimes Chuck even fancies he might be doing what his old man wanted: becoming a better person.

He doesn’t like to think about that for too long, though. It’s uncomfortable and leads to a ton of questions in a voice that sounds suspiciously like his psychiatrist.

Instead, Chuck purposely focuses hard on the candy in his hand. Raleigh doesn’t seem to expect a response, which is good. He opens his mouth, but instead of putting in more sweets, words come pouring out.

“Max’ll be disappointed if we don’t have cake, though,” Chuck says. His tone is a little stilted, and he clears his throat. Raleigh’s looking at him, confused, and Chuck shrugs roughly. “Gotten used to having cake on birthdays, even if it was just that sad excuse for sugar the ‘Dome’s commissary tried to pass off as cake.”

Truthfully, Max didn’t give a damn about the cake. The spoiled bugger was just pleased to be included in the festivities, such as they were. Herc had always been the one trying to make something of it—when he was in the same ‘Dome as Chuck, or when he remembered what day it was.

Chuck would never admit it to another living human being, but it’d meant something. Herc had never talked about it, but Chuck was pretty sure he’d known. For all the anger and animosity, Chuck had never been able to kill the way he’d felt when his father had managed to finagle just a little treat. Herc had left it alone, and Chuck had ignored it, because he was an adult.

“We’ll have cake,” Raleigh promises, breaking Chuck from his thoughts. Chuck’s a little stunned by the brightness of Raleigh’s smile. He feels warm suddenly, and shrugs out of his light jacket. It doesn’t help.

~*~

To their credit, Mako and Raleigh don’t make a big deal over his birthday. There’s a little cake, a new rope and rawhide for Max, and nothing else, which is good. Chuck wouldn’t ~~have known how to~~ accept anything more.

~*~

“C’mon, Mori, you getting slow on me?”

She doesn’t rise to his baiting. It’s been quite a while since Chuck has actively offered to join her in her morning katas. They are part of her routine, and they calm her.

Surprisingly, Chuck is not breaking that calm. They have not sparred together since they were in Hong Kong, though Chuck is not the type to let his physical condition slip. Neither are Mako or Raleigh, really. It will be a while before any of them can relax enough, and even then, that may not be possible.

Mako is immersed into her kata, letting the routine clear her mind. Meditation has always helped her ready herself for the day, letting her mind organize itself. The kata is not a competition, not a match seeking for a victor, and Mako smiles serenely when Chuck finishes at the same time as her. They bow to one another.

Mako doesn’t miss the way Chuck’s eyes dart toward Raleigh. It’s just a split-second, a flicker of his eyes that is almost unnoticeable, but for the way that Chuck’s been doing it more often. She has an inkling—not even a suspicion, more like a hint—but she lets it lie. After all, as long as Chuck is not lashing out and attacking Raleigh like a cornered dog, it’s an improvement. If anything, Chuck looks confused most of the time.

It’s good for him, she decides. Confusion breaks up the arrogant shield he’s borne for too long, softens his edges a bit.

~*~

The day before they are due to leave Maine, Raleigh comes into the room in the inn. To his surprise, Chuck is sound asleep sprawled in the overstuffed armchair, his tablet held loosely in his limp fingers. The screen is dark, just as asleep as the man holding it, and Raleigh smothers a smile.

He’s noticed it before, but Chuck looks remarkably younger when he’s sleeping. It’s not that he looks relaxed, really. Even in his sleep, Chuck still looks like he’s wound too tight, like he’s got a lot on his mind. Despite all of that, though, there’s none of that careful guarded edge that Chuck clings to while he’s awake. Instead, he looks younger. It’s a little stunning to remember that he’s only 22.

Raleigh loses track of how long he’s standing there, right up until Mako returns. She looks at him, gauging, and he finds himself at a loss to define that particular expression.

It lasts only for a second, and then Raleigh shrugs. He carefully retrieves Chuck’s tablet so he doesn’t drop it and break it. Chuck’s fingers are slack, but he manages to rescue the device without waking Chuck. God knows the younger man still needs more sleep than he gets.

~*~

Mako says nothing. She watches, unwilling to interfere and interrupt the tenuous balance the three of them have attained. She is not entirely sure what she is seeing, only that Chuck is less on edge than before. She will take the small favors where she can find them, especially because she is relieved that Chuck is still with them. It eases something in her, knowing that the last pilots standing are still all together, that they haven’t lost everyone and scattered like the rest of the PPDC has.

~*~

From there, they travel to Niagara Falls. Raleigh insists that it’s a crime to tour the world without seeing the Falls. Chuck grumbles and protests, though privately, he agrees that the sight isn’t half bad. It’s interesting, seeing something wrought purely by nature over the course of thousands of years.

At night, they join others along the promenade. They watch the Falls light up in a rainbow, the mist glowing with different colors. There’s something peaceful about it, and Chuck enjoys the babble of the other people along the walk. The night is cooling quickly, and Raleigh doesn’t even hesitate before shrugging out of his jacket and tucking it around Mako’s shoulders. Down the way, there’s a family—dad, mum, son—pointing across the rail at the water, the boy’s face alight with wonder. Chuck can see the reflection from the colorful mist in the boy’s wide eyes, and it makes him feel abruptly uncomfortable.

This is what he fought for, what his father died for. They’d fought so long and so hard so that people could do little shit like this. Something tightens in Chuck’s chest at that thought, and he breathes through it.

~*~

 

> _Scott—_
> 
> _I’m good. Travelling with Becket and Mori. No plans to come back to Australia. Will let you know._
> 
> _-Ranger Charles Hansen_
> 
> _Pilot, Striker Eureka (AUS)_

_…_

 

Chuck deletes the official PPDC signature attached to his email account after a moment of thought. He usually attaches the text block without a second thought, but those emails are all more professional anyway. This one’s different, and he can’t quite hit send. Not yet.

He’s put this response off for long enough that it’s awkward. Scott had attempted to reach out and get in touch right after Operation Pitfall. Even before the news had gone public, Scott had known, had tried to get in touch. Chuck doesn’t really remember much about those first few days or so, and he’s fine with that. It’s been nearly nine months now, though, most of a bloody year, and Chuck still has no idea what to say to his uncle. They haven’t communicated in seven years, and Chuck’s at a loss. How do you communicate after one’s brother and another’s father died? Chuck’s not great at communication to begin with, so it’s far easier just to ignore the emails.

Now, though, he thinks maybe he should at least say something. After all, his survival is hardly unknown; people know (roughly) where he is, and Chuck really is trying to be better about his correspondence and whatnot.

He deletes the email and starts again.

 

 

> _Scott—_
> 
> _I’m okay. Been travelling with Becket and Mori; turns out being away from the Shatterdomes is supposed to be good for me or something. I think Max is getting fat from all the new food._
> 
> _I don’t think we’re coming to Australia. Not for a while, anyway. I’ll keep you posted._
> 
> _\--Chuck_

 

There. See, much better already. Chuck frowns at the email some more, then hits ‘send.’ Fuck it, not like any of his family’s good with letters or anything, right? Uncle Scott will probably get it, if he’s even really looking for a response as it is.

Chuck tosses his tablet onto his bed, watching it bounce on the mattress. Max doesn’t even stir at the disruption, and Chuck nudges him with his foot.

“Up, Max,” he instructs. It might be raining, but little bit of moisture won’t kill them. The bulldog grumbles and huffs at being woken, but his eyes light up when Chuck shows him the leash. He gamely follows, and Chuck snags a windbreaker from his luggage on the way out. He opens the door, only to nearly run over Raleigh. He stumbles a bit, and Raleigh steadies them quickly.

“Whoa, hey,” Becket breathes, then glances over the pair. “Going out?”

“Gotta make sure Max stays in shape, yeah?” Chuck shrugs. “Not much of a fearsome mascot if he gets too lazy.”

Raleigh laughs. It’s a nice sound, and Chuck’s mouth opens again before he can think about it.

“Wanta come with?”

“It’s raining,” Raleigh says, brow furrowing just a little. He doesn’t seem entirely against the idea, however, and Chuck seizes the opportunity the only way he knows how.

“Not scared ‘f a little water, are ya?” He taunts. “You gonna melt?”

Raleigh shakes his head, sighing a little. He looks half-amused, and he shrugs gamely enough.

“Gimme a minute to grab my sneakers,” he decides. Chuck glances down, realizing Raleigh’s dressed more for a day of lounging than anything else. He raises a brow, and Raleigh rolls his eyes. “Was going to ask if you wanted to catch a movie.”

“Later,” Chuck decides. Right now, he wants to ditch that lingering uncertainty from the email, and physical activity has always been his go-to. Not like they have an equipment room in their hotel, so running is his next best bet. He can handle a little rain. Raleigh’s still standing there just looking at him, and Chuck looks at him pointedly. “Sometime today, yeah?”

“What, before the rain stops?” Raleigh snerks, but he turns. “Think you can handle waiting for a moment?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chuck snorts. He leans against the wall as Raleigh retreats back into his room. Becket’s door has only just barely shut before Mako’s door opens and she leans out. She looks curious, and Chuck tilts his head a little. He abruptly feels a little bad; Raleigh had most likely been on his way to invite Mako to join them with a film, and instead he’s just hijacked the man.

“Oi, Mori, we’re going running,” he said, jerking his thumb at Raleigh’s closed door. “Feel up to joining us?”

“No, thank you,” she says, though her eyes very pointedly go to the rain dripping down the hall window. Chuck shrugs at the implication, and then Mako’s face does something he’s not familiar with. He has no idea what that look means.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You two can have the cold rain to yourselves. I will stay inside, like a normal person.”

He snorts, but can’t quite disguise his grin.

“Your loss,” he shrugs. Thankfully, Becket changes fast and reappears.

“Ready?”

“Been ready,” he says scornfully. “I bet Max is ready to leave your ass in the dust.”

Before Raleigh can kneel and try to con his dog, however, Chuck strides away down the hall. He’s itching to run, and even Mako’s disdain for the cool rain isn’t enough to quell it.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is love ^.^ I like hearing if you guys like this, if I'm staying true to the characters, if I've gone horribly awry somewhere and insinuated that Chuck has a stuffed pink pony... stuff like that.


	8. Chapter 8

From the Niagara Falls, they meander across the States for a while. When they stop at the Grand Canyon, Chuck makes sure Raleigh knows how tame the American desert is compared to his native Australia. Raleigh tunes it out, shaking his head. It’s amusing, seeing Chuck get so puffed up over his homeland, so of course Raleigh can’t refuse the chance to pick on him a bit. It’s easier to tease Chuck now that he’s not stressed about saving the world; he’s much less likely to snap and start a brawl, which means pestering him is more fun than it used to be. Before, Raleigh would have had to worry about Chuck pitching him off the edge of the canyon. Now, Chuck just turns red and glares and spits venom, but he’ll stomp off before he lashes out.

Raleigh considers it progress.

~*~

The shoreline just south of Los Angeles is still mostly deserted; the people and towns had all been relocated inside the supposed ‘Safe Zone’ of the Wall. There are plans for the Walls to come down around the world; they are a reminder of failure and corruption, but also a reminder of years of fear and war. The Walls will come down, and people will come back. It will take a while, but the shorelines will be safe again.

For now, they are alone on the edge of the shore. The waves lap softly against the sand, birds wheeling in the sky. The water looks clean, but Chuck still keeps Max away from it. Last time he’d been around Los Angeles, he and his father had faced down Insurrector. It had been a long, ugly fight, and Chuck’s thigh muscles ache in remembered pain. He’d been walking funny for several hours afterward; they’d had to exert immense pressure to keep Insurrector from making landfall. The Wall hadn’t been complete, and there had been far too many workers working this stretch. They’d refused to give in, refused to let the kaiju gain the shoreline.

They’d been lucky. Insurrector hadn’t decimated Los Angeles, but only just. They’d had to fight for every inch, but they’d finally managed to force Insurrector back into the water for the kill.

The water supposedly should be clean and Blue-free, but Chuck has his doubts. He keeps Max at his side.

Raleigh and Mako don’t say anything, either. Chuck’s not sure Mako’s ever been in LA, though he’s well aware that Becket has. He wonders if Raleigh can feel the residuals of his own battle. Can he feel his skin burning from the corrosive blood? Can he feel the wire in his hands, the pain from strangling Yamarashi?

He exhales, then focuses past that. They aren’t here to remember the pains of the war; Chuck had wanted to come here, to see what had happened after. The Americans are nothing if not fast-acting when they want something pushed through, and he is interested to see the communities recovering from everything. It makes him feel… lighter inside, something that he hasn’t felt for years. Hell, Chuck isn’t even sure he’s felt that lightness since he was a kid, untouched by horror and blood and battle.

He feels it now, though. He feels it when he watches Max frolic across the grass in the fresh air, far away from cement floors and tarmac. He feels it now, when he sees people congratulating them for closing the Breach. For years, all he’s felt was a tight, terse pressure when talking to civilians; they all had too many expectations and fears when it came to his piloting. It feels good not to have that, and Chuck wonders if this is what his shrink means by ‘making more progress than before.’

~*~

Later, they visit the LA Shatterdome. The ‘Dome had been built into the frame of the wall, an embedded sort of fortress. It almost might have been a semblance of some strategy, if only the long-range cannons hadn’t been stripped from the walls. Not much point to building a stronghold into a Wall if you stripped the weapons from it, if you think about it.

The Shatterdome feels just as stripped on the inside as it had on the outside. The Americans want to transform it into some sort of memorial museum, the biggest one stateside. There are traces of the work around them, but the ‘Dome still feels empty. The launch bays echo with their footsteps, and they stop for a long, long time to pay their silent respect to the two hangars standing empty.

Raleigh can feel the emptiness keenly. Los Angeles had been the Gages’ home station, where Romeo Blue had been stationed. He has more than a few memories here himself, and it hurts.

At his side, Mako shifts a tiny bit closer, her arm brushing against his. He appreciates her support. He’s been more than a little anxious as they came back to the West Coast, more restless. It’s hard enough to fall asleep on a good night, much less when he can feel the loss of Yancy much more keenly now. Raleigh’s uneasy and pinched, and he thinks that even Chuck’s noticed, which is saying something.

~*~

Mako quietly excuses herself when they visit the Kwoon. She claims she wants to make sure all essential PPDC tech and info was stripped from LOCCENT before the conversion, but Raleigh knows better. She wants to give him space, and he’s torn. On one hand, he doesn’t want to be alone, but at the same time… Raleigh knows he will regret it if he doesn’t face some things on his own.

The Kwoon is exactly as he remembers it. He can still almost hear the clicking of hanbō against one another, the sound of matched breathing; he can almost remember the feel of Yancy, ghosting along the periphery of his mind as they sparred, can almost remember watching the Gages in perfect sync…

That was years ago, and the memories feel clear and fuzzy at the same time. Raleigh’s not entirely sure if it’s time or residual brain damage, but either way, the Shatterdome feels haunted. It hadn’t felt this way in Hong Kong. He doesn’t know if that’s just because he hadn’t had the time to feel haunted there, or just because he and Yancy had never toured Hong Kong, but either way, it’s inescapable here.

Raleigh slowly makes his way toward the racking, surveying the staves still stored. He can’t quite bring himself to touch any of them, and instead he closes his eyes. He stays there for long enough that he’s not surprised to hear footsteps approaching. He _is_ surprised, however, to pick out two sets of footsteps; one measured and somehow uncertain, the other more of a rhythmic clicking.

Chuck says nothing for several minutes. Raleigh tracks him by the sound of his steps, unready to look away from the hanbō on the racks. It takes a bit, but then Chuck roughly clears his throat.

“Los Angeles ‘Dome’s a bit bigger ‘n I remember,” he says. He sounds frustrated, but Raleigh knows it’s at himself more than anything. “Museum guides are gonna have a helluva time, I bet.”

“Probably,” Raleigh murmurs, then shrugs slightly. “They were thinking about turning the Kwoon into a display. Show people how pilots sparred and trained to practice, since they can’t exactly show them live Drift tech.”

“Turn it into a gimmick, you mean,” Chuck says. Raleigh’s a little relieved; he’d thought he was the only one who’d felt that way about it. It felt as if having an exhibit where people could intrude on the Kwoon cheapened the Program, lessened the meaning of true Drift Compatibility. Not that it matters much anymore, of course, but the idea of watching paid actors—or worse, a free participation for visitors—come and ‘spar’ in the Kwoon to showcase ‘Drift Compatibility’ leaves a sour taste in the back of his mouth and a pit in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he agrees. Shaking his head, he comes away from the racks. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disappear on you.”

“You’re not the only one,” Chuck says, then immediately looks as if he wants those words back. At Raleigh’s surprised look, though, Chuck soldiers on admirably. “Sucks. It feels like a bloody tomb in here.”

“It does,” Raleigh agrees. Chuck is blunt as ever, but he’s glad that he’s not the only one who feels it. The very air feels heavy, and he turns away from the racks. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”

“Think Mako’s still up in LOCCENT,” Chuck replies, and Raleigh nods. If she hasn’t reappeared yet, she isn’t ready. He doesn’t want to interrupt; she and the Marshal had spent time in the LA ‘Dome shortly after her adoption, while Tamsin and Stacker had undergone early tests and treatments. So when Chuck asks, Raleigh’s quick to stop him. “Want me to page her?”

“No,” Raleigh says, then flinches at how abrupt his response was. He shrugs loosely, trying to relax. “She’ll find us when she’s ready. Hey, you ever been out on the observation deck?”

~*~

Chuck has become closely acquainted with the hours between 1 and 5 in the morning. He guesses lying awake is better than waking the others with his yelling again; he doesn’t remember much about that night, only that it’s nothing he wants to repeat.

He gives up on sleep around 2 this time. Max doesn’t stir as Chuck slips from the room. They’ve been set up in a luxury suite this time around, nice scene with a shared common room and four separate bedrooms off to the sides. The common room is all clean lines and soft off-white luxury furniture, supposed to be comforting or something. The only thing that it makes Chuck feel is uncomfortable, because he still thinks he’s going to smear oil or grease all over the cushions despite not having been near Striker in months.

And he never will be again.

Shaking it off, Chuck enters the common room. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust; the TV’s on in the corner, casting the room in a bluish glow. Blinking his burning eyes, he scowls toward the seating arrangement. It fades quickly, however, when he catches sight of Raleigh.

There’s something strangely… something, about the other man. Chuck can’t think of the word right now, but he can’t look away. Becket hasn’t noticed him yet, too caught up in staring at the TV. Even from all the way over here, Chuck can see the tension in his shoulders, the unseeing way his eyes aren’t really focusing on the TV.

It makes him uneasy. It’s probably creepy. Yeah, that’s the word he was looking for, he’s almost sure. Becket’s kind of creepy, sitting here in the dark, staring at a TV on mute. There’s not even anything interesting on, just some hyper little man jumping around waving his arms while a number scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Chuck squints, then decides he doesn’t care so much about whatever the man’s peddling.

Chuck makes sure to scuff his feet against the carpet. Unfortunately, the carpet proves thick and soft enough it doesn’t make enough sound, so he clears his throat. Raleigh jumps a little, twisting to find Chuck approaching.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Wait, did the TV wake you up? Is it too loud?”

“It’s on mute,” Chuck reminds him, a little concerned now. Raleigh’s face is shadowed by looking away from the screen, and Chuck frowns harder. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” Raleigh says. His voice sounds hollow, and Chuck hesitates slightly. He’s not good with words, anyone’ll tell you that. Give him a Jaeger or something, and he can fix it; show him someone else upset, and his strategy has always been to retreat. His therapist has even mentioned that Chuck’s interpersonal communication is lacking, but whatever.

The idea of leaving Raleigh to his thoughts doesn’t sit well. Chuck knows full well just how thoughts can consume a person whole, particularly in the middle of the night. He feels out of his depth, his fight-or-flight reflex starting to kick in hard—

And Chuck quashes it viciously. He heads over toward the couch, jerking his chin and forcing Raleigh over to give him room. He ignores the empty loveseat and arm chair, instead forcing his way into Becket’s little bubble.

“Can we at least watch something more interesting?” He demands.

~*~

Mako can’t help but stare. When she comes out in the morning, the sun only just beginning to lighten the sky, she isn’t expecting to find Chuck in front of the television. He flicks disinterestedly through the channels, dark circles under his eyes. He’s slumped down into the cushions comfortably. Mako’s practiced eye cannot find a single hint of that rigidly prefect stance that Chuck prefers. Even when sitting, he maintains perfect posture—

Except for now. Chuck is loose and slumped into himself, and Mako isn’t sure whether it’s because he’s exhausted, or if it’s because of Raleigh’s head on his shoulder. Her copilot looks as if he’s listed sideways onto Chuck, collapsed on top of the younger man. It looks like it should be uncomfortable, except for how Raleigh is sound asleep.

Mako mulls it over for a moment, then gently slides back into her room before Chuck can notice her. Perhaps Raleigh has the right idea; sleeping in is a luxury best enjoyed now that they have the chance.

~*~

Raleigh never mentions it.

He knows better than to mention anything about Chuck comforting him to his face. Talking about anything emotional like that is a quick way to get something slammed in his face—Chuck’s shields, a fist, it depends on the day, really.

He appreciates it. It’s common knowledge to his companions now that his insomnia can get pretty bad at times. He’s not the only one, of course. There are nights when Mako cannot sleep, nights that they spend in reflective silence. He’s there when she needs to talk, but he respects and understands her need for silence as well. Different nights call for different ways to heal, of course. Mako similarly leaves him to it when he exercises himself to the point of collapsing, the only way to (temporarily) silence his demons.

It’s the same with Chuck, mostly. They take it by night, but it’s not uncommon to pass one another in the throes of insomnia. Raleigh’s pretty sure Chuck has actually tucked him in a couple times, though he’ll never call him on it.

It’s kind of funny. Before Pitfall, Raleigh would never have thought Chuck Hansen capable of little gestures like that. He’s come to realize that the Chuck Hansen that he’s travelling with is quite different from the brash asshole he’d initially met. It fascinates Raleigh, and he’s pretty sure Mako’s noticed. She gives him these sly little side-long glances, gauging and analyzing him in that sharp way she has. He admires that analytical acuity of hers, but he’ll readily admit that she intimidates him.

It’s not exactly a secret to Mako that Raleigh’s preferences are pretty fluid. The Drift makes it hard to keep secrets, and while he’d only Drifted with Mako thrice, the connection had been deep and rock steady. He doesn’t prefer men to women, nor the other way around; he’s pretty comfortably bisexual, but he’s also pretty sure that this isn’t what this is. Raleigh’s just fascinated by Chuck—the real Chuck, not the arrogant dick persona that the other man draws on. Raleigh can recognize a shield when he sees one, but that’s not all there is to Chuck. He’s pleased that he’s getting to see past those, and he’s not going to risk Chuck shutting back down.

~*~

“ _No.”_

The sharpness of Mako’s tone draws Chuck’s attention immediately. He doesn’t know who she’s on the phone with, but he’s never heard her get that close to actively getting angry. She’s all polite efficiency, even now, so that tone merits attention. He straightens, tilting his head inquisitively. Mako’s brow furrows, but she makes an abortive gesture. He remains in place at the counter, though his hand slows while stirring his coffee.

“Any requests need to go through the proper channels,” Mako says, all steely coolness. A pause, and she repeats again, “You will need to contact the PPDC directly. I cannot make that call.”

Abandoning his pretense—and his mug—Chuck leaves the little kitchenette in the corner, instead heading toward Mako. He doesn’t envy her, really; even with the Breach sealed, she’s got plenty on her plate. She’s been a driving force in ensuring that the PPDC is protected on all fronts. It’s kind of intimidating, realizing the amount of work and knowledge Mako’s been privy to, though in hindsight, Chuck can’t think of a single person better suited to the task.

It’s hard not to think about all of that in comparison to himself, of course, but Chuck keeps his attention trained on Mako. There are very few calls she _can’t_ make, which means she is simply refusing to make whatever call it is. He wants to know what it is, and who is on the other end of the calls. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long.

Either that, or Mako knows what he wants and answers him without answering him.

“Representative Taylor, we are in Los Angeles on personal business,” she states. “We are not here on PPDC business.”

Chuck stops. Mako isn’t looking at him, but he’s familiar with the way she breathes out, long and slow—the way she does when she’s refraining from demonstrating exactly how infuriatingly stupid someone is. She’s no saint, she burns just as fiercely as he does. Mako’s just always been better at hiding it.

Chuck crooks his fingers for the phone. Mako shakes her head, and Chuck presses his lips together disapprovingly. It’s probably the _right_ choice, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Chuck has more than a few choice words for the American Representative.

He seethes as Mako finally manages to extricate herself from the call. She calmly places the phone down, but Chuck can’t wait.

“What the hell was that?” He asks, unable to keep the edge of anger from his tone.

“It was nothing,” Mako says impassively. “Taylor wanted us to attend a promotion at the opening of the Shatterdome Museum on Monday.”

Chuck physically recoils, and Mako’s lips thin.

“We are on vacation,” she notes. There’s a tiny hint of something underneath her tone, though, and Chuck grits his teeth.

“Not enough we saved their bloody arses, is it?” He snarls. “Did our bit, answered their questions—they want more?”

Of course they do, and Chuck’s been an idiot to think otherwise. As if things hadn’t been stressful enough immediately after the Breach had closed, they’d had to jump through the media’s hoops and give interviews in every language they spoke—and through interpreters for those they didn’t. He realizes that he’s been enjoying the time off without constant media barrages… which only means that he’s let his guard down.

Chuck glances at Mako, fully ready to launch into a diatribe detailing exactly what he thinks of Taylor’s request. The look on her face stays him, however. Mako Mori has never been one to fly off the handle, so he stops upon registering the tight line of her jaw. He stops, then—like his shrink recommends—he considers.

_“You aren’t the only one hurting, Chuck,”_ he’s been told, over and over. Yeah, he gets it, okay? No one came out of the war without hurting. Being in Los Angeles only makes that more obvious. Chuck’s just not used to taking other people’s emotions into account, though he knows that’s changing. It bothers him, but not as much as it bothers him to watch Mako or Becket get upset over shit. That means he’s growing as a person or something, he thinks.

“We’re skipping town Sunday,” He decides. Mako looks up, and he shrugs stiffly. They aren’t supposed to leave California until Wednesday morning, but what the hell. “I’ll make the calls.”

~*~

Raleigh watches Chuck from across the private jet. It late at night, and Chuck has lost the battle to stay awake. He’s sleeping, head tipped back against the headrest as Max snores alongside his thigh. It’s not surprising, all things considered. The last several days of the trip have been cut short; neither of them will tell him why, but both Mako and Chuck have pushed to get out of California as soon as possible. Raleigh knows better than to push when Mako has that strained look to her eyes, and he just goes with it.

Truthfully, he’s okay with leaving California a couple days early.

“You are going to wake him up if you keep watching him like that,” Mako says gently. Raleigh jumps guiltily, and his copilot looks amused. She looks less stressed now that they are in the air.

“I wasn’t watching him,” Raleigh says quickly. Mako just arches a brow, then changes the subject.

~*~

It’s late when they land. Mako’s eyes burn; the lateness of the hour, combined with the time spent focusing on her tablet screen have her eyes feeling thoroughly dried out. Despite Chuck’s hasty travel arrangements, there are ruffled feathers to soothe.

Mako wants nothing more than to snap her tablet in half. The idea that Representative Taylor believes he is entitled to an _apology,_ of all things, makes her seethe. The Marshal had very little respect for the man, and she can understand why. The man’s insistence that their presence in California essentially means that they _owe_ the Americans a publicity event grates on her every nerve. While they have done a few small appearances here and there, those have all been low-pressure and of their own free will. This, however, is anything but. How could any of them offer to be on hand while the Los Angeles Shatterdome is turned into a mocking display? She understands the desire to pay tribute, but seeing the patronizing displays in the ‘Dome’s halls feels entirely disrespectful.

Is this what their lives will become? An exhibit for others to gawk at, to observe beneath a microscope? Will they be relics, on display like the holographic displays in the Kwoon exhibit? Are they no longer human, merely soldiers with no purpose but to perform for everyone? The thought bothers her; she is still in the process of figuring out where life goes from here, but the idea of everything she knows becoming nothing more than a glorified museum display, laid bare for everyone to judge and stare at makes her throat tighten painfully.

Mako descends from the plane first, relieved that their driver is exactly where he should be. Tonight, they will rest in a hotel before adjusting their next plans. Despite not even being in the hotel, she already feels much more at ease, knowing they are no longer in Los Angeles.

Behind her, there’s a faint shuffle. When she turns to look, Mako is far too tired to hide her small smile. Raleigh is manhandling Chuck across the tarmac—and Chuck is hardly fighting it. Mako is stunned, because she has never seen Chuck like this. Normally, he snaps awake in an instant. She doesn’t think he will ever outgrow that instinct, that need to be fully alert in a heartbeat. Now, though, he’s stumbling alongside Raleigh, bumping into him with every step as he shakes off his nap. Raleigh’s murmuring something into his ear, guiding him along until Chuck dazedly shoves him away.

“Sod off, _Raaaa-_ leigh, c’n walk on my own.”

Raleigh shrugs and Chuck scowls, but the scowl’s impact is negated by the way all his hair is sticking up on one side. Mako fleetingly wishes that she has her camera to capture the levity of the moment, this feeling of… _normalcy._   She wants to capture this moment for more than one reason… but mostly because she wishes she had proof of the moment Chuck Hansen tripped over his own feet. She is almost certain that it does not get more human than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little bit longer than normal, I hope that's okay. As always, feedback and concrit is amazing and loved. I love hearing what you think, if I missed anything, stuff like that :) Happy holidays, everyone :)


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